The Ribboned-Witch
by IShouldBeWritingSomethingElse
Summary: "Why would I want your…fumblings?" There was a thread of steel in Granger's voice as she played along with Severus' game. "When I could have *his* expertise?" / SS/HG HEA...Always :)
1. Chapter 1

**The Ribboned-Witch**

This is definitely an AU as everyone on the side of the Light survived…even Hedwig :) Oh, and I'm giving my usual Ron-bashing warning. Like him? Stay away from this fic… Sorry ;-)

And this also started as the attempt at the idea I didn't use in _Innocent Shadows_. Only it seems I'm not going to use it here either…lmao. Ah well, one day perhaps…

I am still writing on _Innocent Shadows_. However, this story accidentally fell out of my brain. It will very much be M. Enjoy :)

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><p>Severus Snape stared into the smoke and amber of his fire whiskey. It caught in the soft glow of the flames flickering in the library hearth. He drew in a deep breath, the scents of the fire, the warmed alcohol and the hundreds of leather-bound books filling his senses.<p>

He sank back into the firm padding of the wingback chair. Somewhere beyond the library walls the sounds of a party carried on. Voices, bursts of laughter, the crash of something big –no doubt Tonks proving her talent once more. He sat alone. Probably forgotten. After all, they didn't need his skills now. He was free.

And this would be his last time in this accursed house. Did he feel relief? Pleasure? Sadness? He took a sip of this fire whiskey and let the smooth texture cover his tongue, his sharp palate picking apart the hints of vanilla, nutmeg and the sharpened hints of liquorice as he swallowed. It burned down his gullet and he let out a long sigh. It surprised him that he felt very little. In a strange way he was almost numb.

Potter had urged the Mutt to break out the good stuff from the Black cellars to toast the final disbanding of the Order of the Phoenix. Their job was done. The last of the Death Eaters and supporters of Voldemort were either remanded in Azkaban or their bodies awaited incineration somewhere in the bowels of the Ministry. The war was finally over. And he was still alive. Which was a surprise to everyone. Including him.

A cold draft wrapped around his legs and he shivered. He wouldn't have to winter in this place. He could hunt out his own home now with the threat of reprisals gone. The area around Spinner's End had been gentrified, which meant good money for little more than a neglected shithole. With his hoarded money from teaching –when had he had the time to spend it on anything?— and the inheritance as the last living Prince, Severus was set for a new life.

He smirked into his glass and thought about another sip. Of course, he'd not been idle. Even under the threat of Death Eaters, he'd revelled in the freedom he'd had from _not_ being chained to two megalomaniacs.

His grin grew as he remembered Molly's shocked face, her eyebrows at her hairline and the splutters of contempt as the _Prophet_ reported on the first of his 'affairs'. She'd even gone so far as to snatch the paper from the Granger girl's hand, vanishing the lurid article with a violent flick of her wand.

Molly had stood with her hands on her wide hips. "I expected more from you, Severus. There are impressionable young witches under this roof!"

Her shocked and affronted tone –acting as if her quidditch team of brats had sprung fully formed into the world— simply forced him to lift an eyebrow. His gaze had slid to Granger, her cheeks pink, her wild morning hair beyond control and her brown eyes not daring to meet his. He dropped his voice low, too aware of its sensual power. "Miss Granger has always been a most _willing_ pupil."

Her gaze snapped to him, her eyes wide. And darkened.

Molly had exploded.

Back in the library, Severus took another sip and stared into the open hearth. He could've had her in that moment. He knew it. Locked Molly out of the kitchen and spread Granger across the table amongst the breakfast dishes. A delectable morning feast. But there was an innocence about the girl that held him back.

Severus swallowed and welcomed the sharp burn. Despite the youngest Weasley boy sniffing around –and his not-so-subtle boasting— Severus was certain Granger was still a virgin. A surprise, but at least no longer a dangerous one. The last thing he ever wanted in his bed was a woman he had to teach. His gut tightened and he pushed down old memories that threatened to resurface. No, Severus Snape did not do virgins.

The library door creaked open. "I said no, Ronald."

Severus winced. The virgin in question. His chair had its to back to the door, hiding him from those entering the library. If he stayed silent, they would no doubt leave. If they lingered, a single word from him would have them running.

"Mione…"

Severus almost rolled his eyes at the boy's petulant whine. How old was Weasley? Five?

"I told you—"

"It's not natural. Not the wizard way. We don't follow the same rules as muggles. We start young, explore, experiment. Don't you know not having sex stunts your magic?"

Severus almost snorted. Was he trying that old lie? They'd been living together in 12 Grimmauld Place for almost seven months and Weasley _still_ hadn't wormed his way into Granger's bed? How inept was he?

"_Stunts my magic_?" Granger's voice had sharpened. "Do you think I'm an idiot, Ronald? You've already lied to everyone I know, claiming that you've taken me every way there is, so why don't you and your imagination go and get a room?" She huffed out a quick breath. "So, to be clear, no I will not sleep with you. No, I will not go down on you. And no, I will not "Please, Mione, just a hand job to take the edge off". Am I _absolutely_ clear yet? Oh, and my name –for the final time— is _Hermione_."

"Do you honestly think anyone else will ask?"

"Excuse me?"

There was an edge to her voice. Weasley had cut her. How did Granger see herself? She was small, shapely and there was a dark passion lurking under her innocence. One day, she'd be eminently fuckable. Severus knew that. She, obviously, did not.

"We've been stuck in this house for months. You were the only free hole." The room was silent, with only the crack and spit of the fire. Severus' jaw tightened and he placed his glass on the table. "You were nothing more than my attempt at a pity fuck, _Mione_."

The little shit had gone too far. No one treated a virgin witch that way. He unwound himself from the chair. "Hermione."

They both froze, Weasley's face burning more red than his mop of hair. Granger's head dipped and her eyes squeezed shut. She was mortified. Severus placed a hand on her shoulder, stroking its slim length to the tangle of her hair. She twitched under the caress of his fingertips over the skin of her neck. Weasley blinked.

"You wondered who would ask?" Severus held the boy's gaze, seeing his eyes widen, disbelief and disgust firing through their paleness. Hermione's neck tilted, offering herself unconsciously to him. She sank back against him as if she were his completely. She really was a responsive little thing.

A dark smile lifted Severus' lips, before he dropped his mouth to her neck. She tasted of vanilla, sweet with a hint of darkness. His dick twitched. Severus' gaze never left Weasley's. "I did."

"You? _She_?" Weasley gaped. "You had her first? _You_?"

"Why would I want your…fumblings?" There was a thread of steel in Granger's voice as she played along with Severus' game. "When I could have _his_ expertise?"

Weasley was visibly shaking in his anger. "Him? You'd sleep with him, over _me_? You—"

Severus silenced the boy before more hate spewed from him. "You will desist in your pursuit of Miss Granger. It has been agreed." He wrapped his arm around her, brushing the underside of full breasts. He ignored the hard ache of his dick. "I do not share." He lifted an eyebrow. "Are we understood, Mr Weasley?"

Weasley opened his mouth, still caught in the spell.

"Nod, idiot boy."

He nodded and with a final glare at Granger, fled the room.

The witch slumped in his arms, her firm breasts pressing against his forearm. Severus cursed. How did he always manage to find his way into trouble?

As if suddenly realising where she was, Granger gasped and struggled free of his hold. He didn't fight her. She staggered away from him, her face scarlet. She caught her fingers in her hair and simply breathed. Severus let her find her courage. It happened a moment later as her shoulders straightened and her gaze moved to his. Almost. It hovered somewhere around his mouth and nose.

"Thank you, Professor." Her lips twitched a smile. "He has been…persistent."

"I agree, he's not the best choice for your first lover."

She blinked, her face –if possible— becoming even more red. "My…?"

Severus waved her to the other chair. He would have to have this conversation. One he'd had a number of times with the older girls in Slytherin. The old pureblood families still favoured The Virgin Agreement. Mostly in its minor form to ensure the girls' safety. However, he never thought he'd be having it with Granger. What in the name of Merlin had Minerva been doing to let her cubs get to this girl's age with no guidance? Whether the girl agreed with the path or not, she should've at least been made aware of her choices.

Granger moved forward on wooden legs and dropped into the heavy padding. He handed her a tumbler of firewhiskey and she curled her fingers around the glass, not yet taking a sip.

"I recommend Kingsley."

She stared at him. "The _Minister_?" She wet her lips. "To…"

Severus resisted the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose. This was why he avoided virgins whenever he could. Particularly muggle-borns. _Especially_ them. An articulate and clever girl was reduced to single words and half questions all in the name of sex. "Yes, to make the beast with two backs. Make love. _Fuck_."

She stared into her glass. "I've never thought of him that way."

"He broke in Tonks. Fleur Weasley. Miss Clearwater. I've recommended him to a number of Slytherins. He has an excellent reputation."

Her chin lifted and anger flared in her brown eyes. "I am not a _horse_."

"No, you are a young woman in need of guidance."

"And Minister Shacklebolt's well-known _hobby_ is breaking in virgins?"

Her lack of knowledge of the wizarding world was showing. But then she'd spent most of her time in it trying simply to stay alive. She'd missed the nuances as her head had been stuck in one book after another. The shit, Weasley, had spoken some of the truth. They differed from muggles in their openness about sex. Of treating it as an art and finding a master or mentor to show them the way. Molly Weasley was a total hypocrite.

"His speciality. Future lovers of those Kingsley has…tutored are always appreciative. Sex is a skill, one that can be learned just the same as Charms or Potions." He lifted his glass and a smile touched his mouth. "Think of it as taking an advanced subject in which you are guaranteed an O."

She closed her eyes and for a moment, Severus thought he saw a flicker of pain cross her face, but it was gone. "Thank you for your candour, Professor."

He frowned. What was wrong with the witch? Was _Hermione Granger_ turning down the opportunity to learn? "Weasley is imbecilic. But then that hardly comes as any surprise. Come to The Agreement with Kingsley and he will show you just how much of an idiot the boy is." He sipped his whiskey and the burn was raw and sharp. He rubbed his throat, wondering if the venom from the thrice-damned snake was making itself known in the winter air.

"It's…it's difficult to think of him that way." Her mouth twitched and she looked up at him. Firelight warmed her eyes. "And honestly, I don't need to rush into this."

She was waiting on someone else. Someone who hadn't asked her yet. It was there, unspoken. Who'd moved through her life? Potter. No, he was all over the Weasley girl like a pernicious rash. Lupin had formed agreements in the past, but he was now taken. One of the other Weasley's? Dear gods, not Percy. She'd get as much of an education out of him as she would being fucked by a gargoyle.

Or Sirius Black? He'd been sniffing around the girl all summer. He'd once been a pretty boy –getting any girl with the snap of his fingers— and putting in just as little effort into the art of sex. Severus had had his leftovers. And those witches tumbled from _his_ bed in shock at what a dedicated and talented wizard could do…

"Who would you prefer as your first lover, Miss Granger?"

She swallowed, her fingers tightening around the glass until her knuckles showed white. She wet her lips. Her warm brown eyes held his. "You, sir."

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><p>As ever, let me know what you think! :)<p> 


	2. Chapter 2

Ooh, lookee, another chapter :D

Thanks for all the reviews, follows and faves! And this next one is a tad M-ish...

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><p>Professor Snape stared at her and she felt her heart catch in her throat. The word "Impossible" burst from him.<p>

She blinked. "Why?"

"I do not sleep with virgins, Miss Granger."

How had she missed something so key to the magical world? Their own strange variant on sex education. Yet more Hogwarts didn't teach. How was she supposed to pick this up? By osmosis? But then sex had never been her first –hardly her _fifth_— concern. She'd spent her time mooning over Ron and had planned to sleep with him…at some point.

Even after Harry defeated Voldemort, the idea of Ron as her first was firmly in place. She wasn't bowled over by him by that stage, but she'd always felt that she should get sex out of the way. And Ron was there, and seemed to want to have sex with her, at least.

Then it all changed.

She took a sip of her whiskey and forced back a cough as it stung her mouth and gullet. Tears burned her eyes. "Are only certain wizards allowed?"

"It is my personal preference."

Golden light gilded him, warming his still-pale skin and shining in his curtain of black hair. He looked healthier, the lack of stress and Mrs Weasley packing enough food in him to choke a horse, had put meat back onto his bones, as her mother would've said. He was now all lithe elegance and immaculate dress. Not handsome…but she often found it difficult _not_ to stare at him. Some days –especially when the _Prophet_ delved into his practically debauched lifestyle— he was mesmerising.

"What would it take to convince you?"

For a moment, his lips lifted and a spark of humour lit his obsidian eyes. "Miss Granger—"

She'd never thought to ever have this conversation with him. But now she was and she would not give up her chance. Possibly the only one she had to have this man. She'd wanted him since Mrs Weasley had dragged away and vanished the first paper to delve into his 'disgusting summer hobby' as Ron's mother called it. And Snape had looked at her, with the promise of untold pleasure caught in his gaze and her flesh had throbbed. Actually _throbbed_.

In that second, her lukewarm infatuation with Ron died.

"What would I have to do? For you to be my first lover. Tell me."

"I will not discuss this."

She sank back in her chair, the glass close to her mouth. The sharp scents of the alcohol burned her senses. "Ron will have exploded out there. He can't hold his own water, on a good day. You will now be known to be…fucking me." She lost her confidence on the word and felt herself redden. Shit.

Snape huffed out a laugh. "Hanged for a dragon as an egg? You think I should take on the job for which I am already damned?"

Hermione shrugged. "It's an idea."

He shook his head. "I stand by my recommendation."

She pressed her lips together, fighting the unexpected tightness of her chest. Her confidence shrivelled. She had thought that he'd at least found her attractive. He'd defended her to Ron when he said those awful words. Fuck, didn't she even rate a…a pity fuck from him?

Her glass clattered to the table and she stood. Her hands were fists. She didn't want Kingsley-_fucking_-Shacklebolt. She wanted _him_.

"Miss Granger…" He'd put his own glass down and rose from his chair.

Shit, he was too close. His body heat, his strong, physical presence, the scent of books, of herbs caught her and her heart clenched. She stepped back from him. "I understand, sir." Her throat was tight and her eyes burned. Damn him. She would _not_ cry over and in front of bloody Severus Snape. "Few have obviously shown interest in me. You are not one. I totally understand."

"You do _not_ understand." His hand cupped her face and she gasped, the rough warmth of his palm spiralling down into her growing panic. "Find me again. After."

She closed her eyes and a tear broke free. His thumb brushed it away. Was it not the wizarding way to share something as precious as her first time with someone she wanted as well as respected and admired? "I want you." She pressed her lips together and willed back the ache to her eyes. "Would it be so bad? Honestly? I'm a very quick learner. You'd hardly know…"

Snape drew in a deepened breath, his hand falling away. "Damn it, girl."

"A kiss, and if there's no spark, I won't bother you again." She frowned at him. "And no slacking."

"Bossy little minx."

She straightened her shoulders. "I have kissed before, Professor."

"Severus."

Her heart missed a beat. Did that mean he had accepted her offer? She ignored the quick hot rush of panic in her flesh. She had kissed before. A handful of times. Shit. Twice. She wanted to smack herself. How was she nineteen and so clueless?

He loomed over her and she forgot how to breathe. So close. Her mouth dried and the fierce need to wet her lips, to close the few inches that separated them beat in her blood. She could almost taste him, the firm line of his lips filling her vision.

She lifted her chin, her heart thudding. But he was still, frozen, a statue of tempting, unmoving flesh. "Please, Severus..."

"What do you require of me, witch?"

His whiskey-sweetened breath brushed over her lips and her hands fisted at her sides. Her pulse drummed. Did he want her to make the first move? To kiss him? She'd never... She'd always been the one to be kissed. The whole two times. Something unexpected, the reaction of a moment. Whether Victor snatching a breathless kiss in the shadows of the Great Hall. Or Ron's fierce liplock in middle of the Battle of Hogwarts.

Damn it, why did she think _Severus Snape_ -amongst all wizards- would make something easy? But she wanted him. Lust and admiration had been a wild mix in her blood the whole of the summer. And fuck-it-all, she was a _Gryffindor_.

She smirked at him, echoing something he would turn on her. "You'll desire me, after this, Severus Snape." Fighting the nervous tremor in her hand, she drew her fingers along his jaw, feeling the day's growth pushing through his skin. "I'll leave you so hard..." her mouth brushed over his, her teeth grazing his bottom lip. The taste of him almost drove her eyes shut, "...your dick could drill a hole in the wall."

"Such language, Miss Granger." His velvet whisper scorched her mouth, his lips almost, _almost_ catching hers.

"Hermione." She pressed her hand to his chest, supporting her body as she lifted herself up on her toes. Solid muscle met her palm. And honestly, had he always been this tall? "I'm going to strip for you." She kissed his parted mouth, her tongue licking his upper lip. "A slow tease, revealing skin untouched by...the sun." Fuck. She'd almost said 'man', but he wanted experience. She sucked on his lower lip, her hand fisting the material of his frockcoat. "Imagine me naked," she murmured. "Firm thighs spread. Ready for you. Ready to take. To fuck."

Snape growled and his mouth came down over hers. Her third kiss. No, she was counting this as her _first_. His long fingers threaded through her wild hair, cupping her head at the perfect angle to ravage her. His other hand gripped her hip and held her hard against him. His erection pressed into her belly.

Her head swam. She'd done that. Her touch, her words. She moaned as his expert tongue found hers, tasting, teasing, his lips sure. She clung to him, melting her body against his, her fingers in his hair and absolutely fucking _positive_ that Kingsley Shacklebolt couldn't kiss her like this. Not for one second—

"Severus Snape! In the name of Merlin, what you _doing_ with that girl?"

Mrs Weasley's strident voice sliced through Hermione's fierce moment of bliss. The man holding her stilled, his mouth hot over hers, his grip unyielding. He drew back a fraction and she missed his warmth, the hard press of him from thigh to mouth. Hermione fixed her gaze on his throat, on the hint of the Nagini's savage bite above the starched whiteness of his collar. Snape lifted his face and looked to the angered witch behind Hermione.

"It would appear," Snape's hand slipped from her hip to her backside. He squeezed and Hermione yelped, "I'm doing whatever I want."

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><p>Let me know what you think! :)<p> 


	3. Chapter 3

I'm so glad you're liking this one. It's fun to write.  
>I am working on the next chapter of <em>Innocent Shadows<em> too. Plots they are a-thickening.

Oh and also a little bit of an M warning ahead...

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><p>Molly Weasley's wand jabbed towards them. Sparks spat from it. "Unhand her this instant!"<p>

"Severus…" Mr Weasley's calm tone cut across that of his irate wife, putting his fingers over her hand and forcing her to lower her wand. "I hardly think…"

"What?" An edge of anger laced Snape's voice and without thought Hermione ran a hand over his chest, wanting to soothe him. Her cheek pressed to his frockcoat and she could feel the heavy drum of his heart. "Am I not good enough for the Gryffindor Princess?"

"We're not saying that, Severus…" Remus Lupin's soft voice followed straight on.

"Oh yes we are!"

_Sirius_. Shit how many were crowded into the library to witness her attempted seduction of Severus Snape? And damn them, she'd been successful too. Would Snape throw her to them now? Walk away in disgust? She pressed herself to him and he looked down briefly, an eyebrow lifted. There was mocking humour in his dark eyes.

Fuck. Ron's giant mouth and primary school jealousies had ruined her one chance with the man she truly wanted. She tried to step back, but Snape's hand on her arse stayed firm.

"Going somewhere?" he murmured.

A smile broke from her, her pulse jumping. "No. Not at all."

"Hermione, come away." She turned her head to look properly at the crowd in the doorway. All stern, thin lipped, angry. Mr Weasley stretched out his hand. "You may think this is what you want, but you would be safer—"

"With Ron? He described me as, and I quote, 'a pity fuck'. So, no thank you, Mr Weasley."

A flush ran across Mr Weasley's cheeks and his wife's mouth whitened, anger flashing in her dark eyes. It was probably to do with Hermione's use of the phrase, not her darling Ron's harsh words.

"Hermione?" Remus' softened gaze touched her. "You can find someone else to learn from. Severus is known for his…preferences."

"Your tutoring days are over, Lupin. Tonks insists." Snape bit out the words and Hermione blinked. Had Professor Lupin followed Shacklebolt into this strange training wizards gave virgin witches? A wicked smile wrapped around his voice. "Is Potter…aware?"

_Ginny_. Ginny had slept with Professor Lupin. Had been tutored in the art of sex by him. Hermione's gaze jumped to the girl's parents…and they presented no shock. Had they agreed to the arrangement? And they would happily let their only daughter romp with a known werewolf…but objected to _her_ with Snape? Hypocrites. Bloody hypocrites.

"My choice is clear. And made." Hermione gave them all a short smile. "So, if you could allow us privacy, please?"

Sirius made a grab for her arm. "Hermione—"

"Hands off, Mutt." Snape's wand gouged into the amimagus' neck and Sirius winced, his fingers flexing and drawing back. "We mustn't touch what isn't ours."

"You're sure?" Remus held Hermione's gaze, his green eyes quiet and firm. "Even at this late stage, you can pull away."

He thought –they all thought— she'd already slept with Snape. "I'm sure, thank you, Remus."

The werewolf turned and ushered the others from the room. Reluctantly, they moved to his will. Sirius' grey eyes, hard and angry, were the last thing she saw before the library door thudded shut.

Severus flicked his wand and threw wards and silencing spells until the wood groaned. Hermione –still crushed hard to his body— shut her eyes and willed down her terminal embarrassment.

"Severus…"

He swore and stood back from her. "It seems you have your way, Miss Granger."

She wanted to point out that he had liked her kiss, that _he_ was the one to deepen it. But she didn't. Instead, she found her chair again, picked up her glass and took a burning gulp of the foul whiskey. The hard cough and splutter that followed pushed out everything, her soured desire, her mortification, her disappointment.

"No pleas? No justification?"

Hermione stared at the drink in her shaking hands, ignoring the man looming over her. Had the eruption at their lack of approval simply happened early? Would they have reacted the same way in the morning…or whenever her tryst with the dark wizard was discovered? What was so bad about Severus Snape? A smile tugged at her mouth. Until the war ended, _that_ list would've been long indeed.

"Miss Granger, I am not used to being ignored."

"Remus mentioned your preferences. Is that your disgust for virgins?" She looked up and Snape frowned at her.

"Not disgust." He sat forward in the chair opposite, his finger drawing a line over his lips. "I am known not to have the _temperament_ for the inexperienced."

Hermione sighed. She'd messed up everything. As if sex had ever mattered to her… Yet it did now. After _his_ kiss. Now she could think of little else. For a long moment, she held his gaze, seeing nothing in its darkness but the reflection of the fire. She trusted him. Deep down, she always had. "You won't hurt me."

Snape snorted. "How do you know that also isn't a predilection of mine?"

She blinked and her mouth gaped. No words would come out. Wonderful, she was doing a brilliant impression of Ron.

"Don't worry yourself, Miss Granger."

"Hermione." She gave him a tight smile. "You will see me naked, after all."

"_Hermione._" His velvet voice wrapped around her name and there was that familiar throb. He pressed his lips together and she caught the subtle shift in him. Severus had left her. Professor Snape was back.

"You are about to enter into what is known as The Virgin Agreement. Or simply The Agreement. It's an ancient tradition, dating back millennia." His mouth ticked upwards. "Virginity in the wizarding world isn't prized. Too often a virgin's blood and bone is a component in dark magic. So –if not already disposed of— when they're of age, a young wizard or witch's family offers them The Agreement."

She stared at him. _What?_ "How did I not know of this?"

"I will be asking Minerva that very question in the morning. It's usually a pureblood tradition –hence Miss Weasley— but half-bloods and muggle-borns adopt it for protection too."

The Weasleys knew of this tradition and hadn't thought to mention it to her. Was it something that was not talked about outside of immediate family? "Did you…?"

His face hardened, his eyes black chips. "No."

Hermione looked to her glass again and put the warmed whiskey back on the table. She stretched her fingers. Whatever they were going to do, learning about his past would not be a part of it. "What must we do?"

"You must chose how I will be of service to you." He lifted his chin and there was a tightness to him now. She had backed him into this. Backed them both. "There are two forms. Magister and Mentoris. The first is a…private tutor. We would meet in a neutral place, perhaps once or twice a week. There I would instruct you. No one would be privy to The Agreement."

A dirty secret. That was the first impression Hermione had. A way to wipe away her ignorance. It was no doubt the method Snape preferred. Least fuss to him. And in a way to her, if the reaction of the people closest to her was anything to go by. "And Mentoris?"

"The traditional method. A ribbon is worn at the throat, a sign to everyone of your Agreement. I would wear a ring. Mentoris is the honour of not only awakening your flesh, but introducing you to the wizarding world as a fully adult witch. To our ways and culture."

Hermione's belly tightened. She wanted him to be her Mentoris. More than anything. For him to fill the vast gaps in her knowledge. And the dark thrill of being tied to him, even if it was only for this short time. "How long does The Agreement last?"

A muscle tugged in Snape's cheek. "As a Magister, anything up to a month. I understand the time spent together is intense, the magic flowing through the bond sharpening the sexual experience. Almost as if it were a lust-filled affair, satisfying, but bound to end.

"A Mentoris a season. Perhaps longer."

Three months with him as her lover. The temptation of it was sharp. A thought hit her. "I've never seen Ginny wear a ribbon."

"Lupin because of his _affliction_ was restricted to the Magister method."

She frowned, still basically shocked at a side of wizardry about which she'd had no clue. And Ginny was her _friend_. "Wasn't it dangerous for Ginny? With Remus?"

Snape shrugged and his smile was dark. "He would not be someone I would chose for _my_ daughter. I believe the bond protected her from his lycanthropy. Arthur and Molly certainly thought so and trusted him. As others have. Potter will now reap the benefits of her education."

Hermione winced. She didn't want to put Harry and sex in the same thought. She picked up her glass again, rubbing her thumb over its cut crystal. "This is all still so strange." She met his gaze, her pulse thudding. She had what she wanted. Severus Snape would be her first lover. She would offer him the method. It was only fair. "Which one should I chose?"

"Miss Granger…"

"Hermione."

His mouth pursed and that urge to kiss him reared in her thoughts again. "Hermione. The choice is yours."

"But it's your life. As Mentoris you would be seen with me, others would _know_."

"I would accompany you to parties, private and Ministry-sponsored. There would be perhaps lessons that did not involve a bed, in history and etiquette. Then there is the time spent _in_ a bed. Beyond that, my life would be my own."

A stone dropped in Hermione's belly at his last words. He would not be exclusively hers. He would continue to play the…rake. Her eyes burned.

"Witches and wizards are always honoured to have a ribboned-witch in attendance. It's a sign of taking your adult role in the world. Of protecting others." He sipped his whiskey. "I imagine we will see a resurgence of it with Riddle and his followers finally imprisoned or dead. Before it was prudent to hide your virgin status."

"Did no one ever wonder about me?"

"It was assumed either Potter or Weasley did the deed." A wry smile tugged at his mouth as she stared at him. "I admit, I may have fed that rumour more than once. Potter's virgin friend? Too tempting for the Dark Lord to ignore."

Heat burned her face in a mix of embarrassment and anger. _He_ had slandered her? As if the _Prophet_ hadn't taken as much delight in dragging her supposedly loose morals through its pages. A contradiction if keeping her virginity was so bad. Perhaps it was the leaping from partner to partner that was so morally wrong?

Snape's final words pushed through her indignation. "Riddle would have bled me dry?"

"Without a doubt."

"Then, thank you for making me out to be a hussy."

A chuckle broke from him. He sank back into his chair and pointed his glass at her, his eyes narrowed. "You think I would prefer to be a Magister for you. An intense rush of lust, hidden from view. But I know you want me as your Mentoris."

"Sir…"

"A sign to the wizarding world that there is nothing to fear now."

Her heart squeezed. She could let him believe that. That she was using him as a stunt, a brash and Gryffindor way to show that Riddle was dead and she was not afraid to display herself and her status. He was right. It was _also_ that. But mostly it was having time with him. Having _more_ than sex with him.

She gave him a quiet nod, not able to hold his gaze. "Yes."

"Then I will be your Mentoris."

Her mouth dried. "Thank you."

She looked up and found his wand in his hand, his glass once again on the table. A few complicated flicks, the murmur of words and a thin white ribbon and a heavy white-gold ring appeared on his thick palm. His wand disappeared back up his sleeve. "Stand, please."

Hermione put down her glass and rose.

"Take the ring and put it on the little finger of my wand hand."

He held his right hand out, steady and sure and she pushed the ring on his finger, the flicker of magic stinging her skin to course along her veins. She gasped, her body suddenly arcing against the lick of flame that unerringly found her nipples. "What…?"

Snape's smile was wicked as he stood before her now, the white ribbon looped between his hands. He kissed it and Hermione almost groaned. His mouth had burned hot and wet over her navel. "Lift your hair, Hermione."

His voice was soft, enveloping her. She watched him close the short distance between them. His dark eyes heated. Yes, _Severus_ was definitely with her now. "What will this do?"

His smile deepened and her flesh tightened at the pure wantoness of him. How was she going to keep her hands off him in public?

"Oh, I wouldn't want to spoil the surprise."

It was a hot, velvet whisper against her mouth as his fingers skimmed her throat. Hermione didn't breathe, couldn't think. Her flesh was on fire. Her breasts ached, her nipples tight and hard. And as he eased the ribbon around her neck, his light touch flowed over her, flowed _down_. Down between her thighs were no one had touched, seeming to stroke, to play with a level of skill that shamed her own inept fumblings.

"Breathe, Hermione."

She sucked in air on his command, staring at him, fear and want a heady mix in her thoughts. His smile was dark, his eyes almost sinful. And still his touch, at her neck and between her legs held her. Her pulse pounded. Everything, her flesh, her sex, her chest, everything was so tight, straining for something under the power of his remorseless fingers.

With the hint of a smile, he licked her lip. "Come for me, Hermione."

His taste, his touch, his sin-filled voice burst over her tortured flesh and blazed a riot of heat and light over her body and mind. She cried out, her spine bowing, lost in a wild moment of complete and utter joy.

Vaguely, she was aware of Snape's –Severus', surely now— strong hands holding her up. She trembled and without his support she was certain her knees would've given out. She let her head fall against his chest and simply breathed as the echoes of her climax chased through her flesh.

"Your first orgasm?"

Further heat ignited her face and she could only nod against him.

"You surprise me."

Hermione closed her eyes at the flicker of amusement in his voice. "It was never a priority."

He tipped her chin up and gave her a short smile. "Let's get you back to your room, Hermione. Remember to lock, silence and ward it. We will discuss our agreement further in the morning."

He unwarded the door and slipped her arm into his as she fought to pull her mind and body together.

What had she agreed to? Perhaps a quarter of a year of _this_ with Severus Snape…and he hadn't even touched her. Not properly. Worse to spend time with him and to know it was a binding, nothing more than a contract with a set end date. And that even in the short days to come, he was not solely hers.

Sometimes she was so stupidly, _stupidly_ muggle, wanting something that was impossible even in a magical world.

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><p>Let me know what you think! :)<p> 


	4. Chapter 4

Whee, another chapter! :) And oops, I said everyone on the side of the Light survived...but I left Dumbledore dead. Sorry *shuffles feet*

More plotty, this one. I am getting my plot-ducks in a row...

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><p>Severus tossed floo powder into the cold grate of his room's fireplace and watched the green fire flare up. "Headmistress' Office. Hogwarts."<p>

Minerva had escaped the festivities early the night before, unwilling to leave the castle and its children undefended. He glanced at the clock on the mantle. It was still early –barely seven— but the Scottish witch had never been one for much sleep.

"Minerva?"

_"Severus? Come through."_

Her voice was a hollow echo in his bedroom and he stepped into the fireplace, twisting through the network to the familiar tower office. He flicked away the soot and ash with a wave of his wand and focused on the witch sitting at Dumbledore's wide desk. _His_ old desk. He didn't envy her her task now.

"Come to say you'll take a position? Potions and Defence are still open to you. I'll happily toss out who I have now."

He smirked. "Such loyalty to your staff, Headmistress…"

She met his smile, calling for an elf and ordering tea and breakfast for her sitting room. "You won't have eaten."

He shrugged and followed her into the round room beyond the Head's office. Books lined the walls, broken by long, thin windows still showing the darkness of a winter in Scotland. The air was warmed by a blazing fire, the scent of hickory slipping across his senses. He pushed aside a throw –one of the Headmistress' garish family tartans— and sat as she did. He accepted the cup of hot tea she offered.

She stilled. Yes, she'd spied the ring on his wand hand. "Severus?"

"It was an interesting night last night." He settled back into his chair and watched the older witch over his cup. "I had it confirmed that Miss Granger is a virgin."

For a moment, shock froze Minerva's lined face before her mouth thinned. "What are you about, Severus?"

"_Me?_" He lifted an eyebrow and a prick of anger pierced his voice. "She is _nineteen_. She had no idea how dangerous her position was. None. What were _you_ about, Minerva? Why did you keep one of your favourite cubs in the dark?"

A flush touched the Headmistress' cheeks. "Hermione is muggle-born—"

"So? Riddle would've found her blood and bones just as fine as any pure-blood witch."

"That threat is gone."

Anger twisted in his gut. Guilt rippled off the woman. Minerva had done something. And she wasn't proud of it. "Gone now, yes. But the _threat_ is always there. She's lived in ignorance for years. One word and I would've been forced to take her. Spill her blood."

Minerva picked up a slice of toast and dropped it on her plate. She reached for the butter. Her face was tight and she was avoiding his gaze. She knew she was in the wrong. He wanted to know why. "She was hardly interested in sex. _Books_ are her passion. I saw no need to force her into a situation for which she was not ready."

"The truth, please, Minerva. We've known each other too long."

She looked up and gave a sharp nod to his ring that glowed in the firelight. "And you've taken it upon yourself then, have you? A Mentoris. You?"

She was trying to spike him, to drive the anger into him so he would react and leave her alone. But he was no longer living on the edge of his skin, strained and stretched as he fought the war on both sides. He took a sip of his tea and lifted an eyebrow. "What did you do?"

"She is a muggle-born," was her snipped reply.

"Yes, I am aware of that."

"They…" Her lips pinched again and she stabbed butter onto her toast. Jam followed. "She wouldn't have understood The Agreement."

"To my utter surprise, Miss Granger turns out to be quite a clever witch. She certainly seemed to understand it perfectly well last night."

"Severus!" Minerva huffed out a breath and put down her butter knife. Her shoulders straightened and she lifted her chin. Severus half-expected the old Gryffindor to growl. "You know that muggle society –her society— would find it bizarre if not completely dissolute."

"She is a _witch_ and should've been protected. Why did you not protect her?" He frowned and a sick feeling filled his belly. He hoped he was wrong. "It wasn't some twisted plan of Albus' was it?"

"No!" Minerva glared at him. "He knew nothing about it."

"About _what_?"

"We –I— wanted her to find her first time without artifice."

Someone had put Minerva up to it. Had convinced her that a muggle-born wouldn't appreciate a Magister tutoring her. His chest tightened. It would've been Lupin and that unpleasant realisation made him wince. "Who suggested this?"

The older witch's shoulders sagged. She let out a long breath. "Hermione was around them so often, I was certain that she'd given up her virginity long ago." She held his gaze now, her blue eyes pain-filled. Guilty. Her voice was choked. "I truly thought she was safe, Severus."

Anger did rise in him now, burning at the edge of his thoughts. "The Weasleys." They'd protected their own daughter, and planned what for Hermione? Arthur wasn't insane enough for this. Molly. _Molly_ had wanted her virginity… Oh, he could happily strangle the interfering witch. "Molly wanted a virgin for her precious Ron."

Minerva sighed. "She pointed out Hermione's interest in him and how it would be more fitting for a muggle-born to find her first lover in a more muggle way. It was the summer before Hermione would begin her Sixth Year. I had planned to speak to her about taking a Magister…"

Severus pushed down his fury, but still it edged his words. "She should've been given the choice."

Minerva closed her eyes. "She has it now."

"Did Molly hope to snare Miss Granger, bind her to her son through this? Had she realised how completely unsuited they are?"

Minerva sighed and picked up her cup. She stirred in sugar, her movements rote. "Perhaps. I'm ashamed to say, I never thought too hard on it. Albus had been a fool and put on that ring… My mind was elsewhere." Her spoon clinked against her saucer. "Will you tell her?"

"She's already wondered." He lifted his hand, his ring glittering. "And Molly was not receptive to the idea of this."

Not that they knew of The Agreement yet. They'd simply been horrified at the thought of his sleeping with the Granger girl. Discovering the fact that he would be her shadow for the next few months would no doubt drive them apoplectic.

"Mentoris." A nostalgic smile lifted Minerva's thin lips. "That is a tradition I have missed. I'll be glad to see it return. And it will mean so much now." She stared into her teacup. "I was a ribboned-witch." She looked up and her eyes were misty. "It's a great honour you do her, Severus."

A knot tightened in his chest. He didn't want to see Minerva's yearning for her past. The remembrance of long-lost pleasure. Thoughts of taking on Granger already had him uneasy. He had vowed never to have another virgin. Had reminded himself of that fact only the night before, the threat of old memories promising to swamp him. He'd lost his virginity at sixteen to Lily Evans. They'd lost their virginities to each other…and for a time it was pure bliss.

When James Potter took her from him, he'd sworn never to have another virgin in his bed. Never again. He wanted experience. A witch who knew exactly what she wanted. Told him as he told her. No breathless discovery. No tentative exploration...

But now he had just that with Hermione bloody Granger. A girl –woman—who hadn't even had an orgasm till he put a damned ribbon around her neck. Untouched didn't cover it. She couldn't _be_ more virginal. And he'd bound himself to the witch for the next three months.

Idiot that he was, he'd been congratulating himself that he was finally free.

Fate certainly knew how to piss on him. Repeatedly.

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><p>Reviews, faves and follows? I love them :D<p>

Giada: I appreciate all of your reviews. *hugs*


	5. Chapter 5

Thanks for the reviews, faves and follows! I hug them, and squeeze them, and call them George... :D

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><p>Hermione broke apart her croissant and smeared butter on it. Kreacher crept up, placed a heavy mug of coffee beside her plate and she smiled her thanks. He gave her a strange little grin in reply.<p>

Candlelight flickered, only the first smudges of dawn pushing across the cloud-thick sky. She doubted those who'd stayed in Grimmauld Place would yet make an appearance. She supposed the party had gone on into the night.

Her room had been silent, locked tight and heavily spelled, to keep out those who, no doubt, would want to have 'words'. She'd spent sleepless hours staring up at the fire-shadows dancing against the ceiling, trying to wrap her mind around everything that had burst upon her in so short a time. It all boiled down to one swirling, almost impossible fact.

Severus Snape would be her lover.

She chewed mechanically and stared at the fine grain of the kitchen table. Her lover. And whomever else he took a fancy to. _My life would be my own._ His words haunted her. She frowned into her coffee. She was thinking muggle. She had to think like a _witch_.

Severus was offering her something no one had had for too many years. He'd said, many had taken the Magister route, too afraid to expose themselves. She would have an introduction to the magical world. A proper one. Not one gleaned from books. All the facets she missed, the massive gaps Hogwarts had left in her education, the things other witches knew without thought, she would know them now.

She would know _him_ too. It wasn't just about teaching her to fuck.

Hermione closed her eyes, feeling the blush darken her face. She had to get over that. He valued experience. Not the gauche reactions of a girl. She would fake it until, well, until he taught her enough so she didn't have to…

The heat deepened in her skin and she sipped her coffee. How many more strange –almost unsettling— wizarding traditions would she uncover? At least she had one less worry, though it was a bitter one. She would never have to explain her new situation to her parents. The Order had confirmed straight after the defeat of Voldemort that her memory charms were permanent. Monica and Wendall Wilkins had a good life in Australia, happy, fulfilled, crowded with pets and people. But the reality was her parents were lost to her. Forever.

She sighed and put down her cup. The pain had lessened over the months. Still, it caught her sometimes and the sting of it burned fresh.

As the muggle world was closed to her, it was another reason to fully immerse herself in the magical one.

"Hermione?" Harry yawned and dropped down next to her. Kreacher bustled forward with tea and three, thick bacon sandwiches. "You're up early."

"I didn't stay up drinking." She smirked at him, but his gaze was on her throat. Her ribbon. Did he know what it meant? She stopped herself from touching it, though the silky feel of it against her skin reminded her of the white-hot blaze of pleasure Severus had released within her.

Harry blinked, blushed and focused on his breakfast. "Ron got falling down drunk last night." His gaze slid to her. "Flailing and muttering about you and Professor Snape. Hammered on your bedroom door. And was swearing. A lot."

Hermione winced. "In front of _everyone_?"

"Me, Sirius and Remus. Possibly Kingsley." A smile tugged at his mouth. "Remus cast a harsh silencing spell on him and dragged him off to his room." He polished off his first sandwich with a reckless speed that would've made Ron proud, chasing it down with a gulp of tea.

Hermione's gaze fixed on her mug and her thumb toyed with the handle. Even after years of Hogwarts' feeding, Harry still ate as if his food would be snatched from him at any minute. Because, she was certain, it once had been.

"What's going on with you and Ron, Hermione?"

She glanced at the closed kitchen door. The house sat in silence. No one was stirring. She could tell Harry anything. Everything. Still heat warmed her face. Harry was her best friend, but he was still male. "I refused –for the absolutely _last_ time— to sleep with him."

"You broke up."

She snorted. "We've never been together."

Harry frowned. "But he's been…saying all summer that you and he…"

She knew the word he'd wanted to use. _Bragging_. Harry had tried to hush him, to shut him up, but Ron found himself able to wax lyrical about her charms. Charms he had never –and _would_ never— see. "Lies." Trembling fingers touched her throat, tracing the edge of the ribbon. "Do you know what this means?"

Harry shook his head. Hermione pressed her lips together, She couldn't reveal what she knew had transpired between Remus and Ginny. She closed her eyes, embarrassment welling up in her. Harry was practically her oldest friend. She reminded herself that she _could_ tell him anything.

"Ron has lied. I didn't sleep with him this summer. I have never slept with him." She looked up and gave him an unsure smile. "I've never slept with anyone."

Harry paled and he pressed his hand to his mouth. "Fuck." He flushed. "Sorry. But you should have said. The whole war. You went through the whole war… And you could have been…"

She patted his hand on the table and her smile deepened. "Harry. You're rambling."

"Do you have any idea how much danger you were in?"

Hermione blinked and a hollow pain filled her chest. He _knew_? He knew and he never said a thing?

"I thought you and Ron had slept together, somewhere in the Sixth Year." His hand caught in his hair. "If I'd known, I would've said. You could," his eyes flicked to hers and away, "you could've approached Remus—"

"_Remus?_"

The blush on Harry's cheeks grew to mottle his neck. He glanced back at the door and his voice dropped. "It's a wizard rite. An older wizard will teach you, about, you know, _sex_."

She couldn't help the smile that broke from her. Sometimes Harry –for all that he had done— was still such a _boy_.

"Ginny told me about it. How a witch or a wizard is…initiated. Remus was hers. Which was, I'll admit, kind of a slam to the gut when she told me."

"Where you _initiated_?"

His laughter was soft. "You know when I said Cho and I kissed? It was slightly more than that."

"You bad boy."

His eyes danced, but then they sobered. "You're not seeing anyone? Then you should talk to Remus. He's obviously with Tonks now, but he might be able to point you to a…Manister, I think it's called."

"Magister."

Harry frowned. "That's what the ribbon is? Ginny never said anything about being obvious. She said it had to be completely secret for the safety of her and Remus."

Hermione nodded and explained the difference she had from Ginny, of how she wouldn't be hidden, a secret, but how her status would be known. How she was moving into the world without fear. Harry listened and she could feel the question burning in him. "Ask," she murmured.

"Who put that ribbon on you?"

She drew in a breath, readying herself for his explosion. "Professor Snape."

Harry stared at her. His mouth fell open. No sounds came out, apart from a strange, strangled grunt. His mouth closed and he swallowed. "_Severus_ Snape?"

"I doubt there could be two of him, Harry."

"Hermione…"

"_I_ asked _him_. You'll probably hear all kinds of hysteria from the others, but that is the first fact."

"They know about…this." He waved his hand to her throat.

"Not about him being my Mentoris, no. They rather had the impression that we'd already had sex."

"Merlin's Balls," Harry muttered and scrubbed at his face. "I have a quiet night with Ginny, meanwhile, outside my room, the world goes insane."

"I want this, Harry." She looked to her mug, and the tightness in her chest was there again. "I want him."

"Oh gods, Hermione." There was realisation in his soft exclamation. "You know…you know this rite isn't permanent? It ends. He's not yours." He drew her to him, holding her and her throat ached, her eyes burning at his words. "He won't feel the same way."

"I know."

"I'm sorry." Harry pressed a kiss to her hair. "With any luck, you'll find you can't stand him. It is Professor Snape, after all."

Hermione laughed, some of the tension escaping her. Harry hadn't derided her, hadn't shown much shock at her preference. She couldn't explain why or when her desire had crept over her for Severus. His name in her thoughts still seemed…illicit.

Oh, there had been the morning of the _Daily Prophet_ article and her awakening to him as a man. But that was only the capping of it. It seemed as if there'd always been something about him that drew her. His intelligence, his bravery, his wilful disregard for what the world thought of him. His hands. His eyes. And gods above, his _voice_.

She doubted Harry wanted her to list the glowing attributes of a once-hated professor. She shifted away from him, pulling the tangle of her hair back. "I'll have what I can."

The front door slammed and her heart jumped. Both she and Harry looked to the kitchen door. It opened to admit Severus Snape. She stared. He wore a well-tailored muggle suit that only emphasised his lean build complimented by a long, dark coat, with its collar turned up against the winter chill. His black hair was caught at the nape, a few inky stands falling across his brow. Her mouth dried and she fought hard not to gawp. This was still her surly Potions Master. She knew that. But in this moment, he looked…gorgeous.

"Good morning," he murmured. He looked beyond Harry to her. "Miss Granger, a word, if you please."

Hermione pushed herself away from the table and Harry caught and squeezed her hand in a brief gesture of support. Snape stood to one side and let her precede him into the hall. He closed the door.

Alone with him, Hermione's nerves pricked. "I've never seen you dress this way."

His lips twitched. "A necessary camouflage." He waved to the stairs. "We should make use of the library again."

Moments later, he was shutting and warding the door to the library. He flicked his wand to the cold hearth. A fire surged. Another flick and the candles in their sconces burst into life. Hermione willed her spine straight. Experience. A woman of the world. That's who he wanted. She'd fought in a war, seen horrors. She was hardly naïve…yet he made her feel so. He'd experienced so much more. Knew so much more.

"Sit."

Hermione pulled in her attention and followed him to the chair she'd occupied the night before. Her stomach twisted and she watched him as he pushed the dark length of his coat from his thighs and crossed his long legs. He was the very image of insouciance.

He turned the white-gold ring on his finger. "I visited Minerva this morning."

"How did she react?"

"She is accepting of this." He paused and set the ring straight. "So much so, that she gifted us use of the flat Albus left her in his will. Near to the Albert Hall." He waved his hand over his clothes. "Hence this…costume."

"Did she say why she never brought up the idea of a Magister with me?"

Snape's mouth thinned and a gleam of anger heated his dark eyes. "Molly Weasley convinced her not to. She said it was a nod to your muggle heritage. I believe otherwise. I believe she wanted you for her youngest son."

Hermione stared at him. Molly had put her at risk for the sake of her son. So Ron could be her first. Her stomach lurched. "Do you know…?" She pressed shaking fingers to her mouth. "Do you know if _he_ asked his mother for this?"

Snape shook his head. "I do not." He winced. "It's a common wizarding belief that if you're a muggle's first lover, then you catch her heart. No doubt Molly has pushed this fallacy to muggle-borns."

Hermione stared at her clenched hands, her emotions a riot. She'd been kept in ignorance for the sake of a myth. Almost a myth. She herself wanted her first time to be special, to be with a man she admired. She couldn't admit to deeper feelings. Not yet. She didn't truly know him. In a way, she hoped Harry was right. That at the end of her three months she could walk away from Severus Snape with her heart intact. It didn't help that the first thing he'd done that morning was grill Minerva about why she'd not been protected.

"It may have been done with the best of intentions." The sneer to his voice said he thought anything but that. "But the choice should have been yours. Weasley or a Magister. Not what happened."

Hermione drew in a long breath, letting it fill her lungs and easing it out. "It's the past." She gave him a tight smile. "I was lucky. Assumption and rumour worked for me. And now I have you—this." She touched her throat, stroking the length of the silk ribbon, and hoped he hadn't read anything into her slip. "What else do we have to discuss?"

"We will visit Albus' flat to see if it's suitable in a short while. Today, I will put together a schedule for meetings. Yule approaches and dinners and parties increase exponentially. I will also make it known there is a ribboned-witch seeking introduction." He tilted his head. "Is this all acceptable?"

She nodded. "Next week I start at the Ministry. Monday morning. A small cog in research and archives."

"Your ribbon will bring a lot of notice to you. Are you prepared for it?"

_Probably not._ But she didn't admit it. She lifted her chin. "It will make liars of the _Prophet_ and of Ron. I'm happy with that."

A wry smile pulled at his lips. "Good." The smile faded. "There are rules to this Arrangement, Hermione. Only I may touch you. And you are not to initiate any contact with a male."

Harry. _Shit_. She'd hugged Harry. Had she broken her chance already? "Any male? I," damn it, he hadn't explained this the night before, "I hugged Harry this morning."

Snape pinched the bridge of his nose. "Does he desire you?"

"Gods, no!" Hermione shuddered at the thought. "He's like my brother."

"If you are certain of their…regard, then it is safe. The rule is set as a blanket to protect The Agreement." He turned his ring, light glinting over the gold. "Our bond is new. In time, this will flare if someone who shouldn't touches you. Men are aware of this. I will duel any who break it." He stood. "Make yourself ready. We'll go to Kensington as soon as you are." And with a sweep of his coat he was gone from the library.

Hermione slumped back into her chair and pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes. "Should've said Magister. You idiot." She cursed under her breath. But now that she had the chance, she'd wanted the fantasy. To be one of those women the _Prophet_ reported on.

One photograph stuck in her mind and left her heart in her throat, a candid shot at some Ministry event, as Snape tilted up his partner's chin, his long fingers caressing her jaw. The beautiful blonde woman had appeared mesmerised, her mouth parting, anticipating the delicate brush of his lips against her own. And it had only been that the photograph captured. Over and over.

Wizards thought that being the first to sleep with a muggle took her heart. Hermione had the horrible feeling they would be proven absolutely right.

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><p>As ever, let me know what you think!:)<p>

And I have to get back to writing on this and _Innocent Shadows_...I've slacked recently. Bad me...


	6. Chapter 6

Did I mention this before, but nothing you recognise as canon HP belongs to me but to JKR :)

And thanks for all the love for this little fic :)

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><p>"What is that ring?"<p>

Mrs Weasley's shrill voice burst out through from the kitchen and Hermione paused on the stairs. She drew in a breath, twisting her courage around her. Molly Weasley had no say in _her_ life. Not any more. She was an adult witch. Independent and no blood relation. How Hermione chose to live her life and her decision about who had a place in it, was entirely up to _her_.

She glanced at herself in the hall mirror. She'd swept her hair up, hoping to look more mature, and with it, the ribbon at her throat gleamed. She stopped herself from touching it again. It was a strange little thing, not growing wet in the shower, nor soapy…almost as if it existed in some other place. She smirked at herself. Magic could be so useful.

She'd transfigured what clothes she had into something more suitable, something that she hoped matched Snape's sartorial elegance. And produced a deep blue sweater and matching pencil skirt, tights and knee high boots. Her coat was velvet, winter-heavy and warm. She buttoned it up as she headed for the kitchen.

"I said, Severus Snape, _what is that ring_?"

Mrs Weasley stood before the stove with her hands on her hips, glaring at Snape. He was leaning against the wall, hands clasped loosely before him, his new ring gleaming in the candlelight.

Others sat around the long table, still the worst for wear, only blearily looking up at Snape. Most were wincing at Mrs Weasley's piercing voice. Remus was frowning though. Ron had his head down and was ploughing his way through a full English. Sirius hung onto his mug of coffee as if it were a bucking hippogriff, his face grey and his eyes blood shot. Mr Weasley and Kingsley simply seemed dazed. Hermione hadn't seen a sorrier group. Usually Snape handed out his prized Hangover potion. Today it was noticeably absent.

"Hermione, there you are. Shall we go?"

Remus looked up and his gaze fixed on her neck. His chair scraped back and beside him Sirius winced. He stared back at Snape. "Mentoris?"

Snape replied with one of his elegant shrugs.

Mr Weasley blinked. "Hermione's wearing a ribbon."

She ignored them as Snape did. "I'm ready, Severus."

He presented her with one of his wry smiles, his eyes almost wicked. Her pulse jumped. So rakish…and with that look? She hoped to make it out of the kitchen before she tried to jump him.

"Severus, you can't—" Remus began.

"The thing you should be objecting to, is why. Why did Miss Granger reach the age she has still untouched?" His obsidian gaze cut to Mrs Weasley. "I'm sure Molly can explain."

Remus turned away to stare at the suddenly silent Molly, and Snape took that as his exit. He urged Hermione out of the kitchen and along the hall, stepping in front of her to open the door. Cold air rippled in from the square and she shivered. Shouts broke out in the kitchen and Snape smirked.

"We'll leave the Gryffindors to their fun."

"_I'm_ a Gryffindor."

His expression was one of mocking sadness. "I know. I'm so sorry."

Hermione growled at him and tottered down the stone steps to the pavement, Snape in her wake.

He took her hand and pressed his lips to her knuckles, his gaze fixed on her. She fought to breathe evenly. "You look lovely today, Miss Granger," he murmured, his breath stirring her skin.

Heat burned in her face and her words dried.

"Your response should be 'Thank you'."

Tight pain filled her belly. It was a lesson, not a compliment. She willed a smile, though it felt more like a grimace. "Thank you."

He released her hand, glanced around the empty square, and drew her to him, his arms wrapping around her. "Relax, Hermione." He murmured the words against her temple, and the power of his voice chased away her bitter embarrassment. "You trust me in a side-along apparition, don't you?"

"Yes, of course." His scent, parchment and herbs, followed her into the hated crushing pressure and wild heartbeats later they stood in the shadows of a knot of trees. To the left, Hermione spied the gaudy and gothic Albert Memorial and ahead through the twists of branches was the Albert Hall itself.

"Those mansion blocks," Snape said, nodding towards the red brick sweep of buildings to the left of the concert hall. He eased back from her and took her hand, his strong, warm fingers closing around hers. "Come."

She walked with him across the busy road and he absently cast a notice-me-not and silencing charms over them both as they padded up the steps to the dark wood double doors leading into the long block. Still, Hermione held her breath as they drew close to the porter's desk. The uniformed man didn't look up from his paper.

"The stairs. The lift is too noticeable." Snape murmured. "Once we reset the wards, if we have to appear in the public areas, we won't be questioned."

Hermione was thankful that years of stair-climbing at school had strengthened her leg muscles and she took the six flights with ease. Snape opened the door onto a curved corridor, reclasped her hand and set off, Hermione almost trotting to keep up with his long strides.

"62 Prince Albert Mansions is unplottable. One of Albus' lesser known safe houses."

They rounded the curve and stopped before a blank wall. Snape drew his ebony wand from his sleeve and with his other hand still tightly holding hers, murmured spells against the wards. With an aching groan, a wide, black door appeared, matching the ones they'd passed on the corridor.

Snape let out a slow breath. "The wards will recognise us both now." And he stepped forward, taking her with him, the ripple of warm magic flowing over her. With a tap of his wand, the door opened.

A little house-elf bobbed, his ears flicking. His luminous eyes gleamed with happiness. "I'm Gret, and I'm here from The Headmistress. To clean. Prepare." His bright gaze moved over her ribbon and Snape's ring and he clapped his large, spindly hands. "So happy to serve here. So honoured. Welcome Once-Headmaster, Miss Granger."

"Master Snape will do," he muttered, shooing the elf before him down the wide hallway.

Hermione stared. Cream walls stretched away, bare of portraits, but filled with light from two long, magical windows that looked out onto Kensington Gardens. The hints of polish and lemon teased the air. Breathing it in, Hermione's tensions eased somewhat. Why hadn't Dumbledore used this flat rather than the doxie-infested miserable hole that was Grimmauld Place?

Snape glanced back at her. "Minerva said there's only six bedrooms here. And that's pushing the expanding magic to its edge. The Mutt's dump is almost limitless."

"Reading my mind?"

His smile was sharp. "Would I do that?"

"Do you want me to answer honestly?"

Snape stopped in a widened area before staircase that led down to another floor. He took her hands and drew her to him. The glow from an ornate chandelier spilled light over him and dropped gold into his eyes. "You must be honest with me. Completely honest." His voice was liquid sin, pouring into her. "If I am to teach you." His lips brushed her ear and a delicious shiver ran the length of her body. "To draw every pleasure from your flesh, then I must know your every thought, your every desire."

How did he simply switch it on? Her eyes closed and she let the myriad sensations of his touch, his scent, his voice roll through her. Delicious and decadent. She kissed his throat without thought, nuzzling under his chin. "Ask," she murmured.

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><p>Severus breathed in the scent of her hair, jasmine mixed with the dark vanilla of her skin. Did she have to be…affectionate? Fuck-it-all, someone should've had her years ago. Then he could have her now, without thought or conscience. No, this was fate pissing on him. <em>He<em> was the one who had to guide the girl and let other men reap the reward of _his_ efforts.

He forced a smile against her skin, even though he wanted nothing more that to drag her into the nearest bedroom, vanish her clothes and take her in every way he knew. But that wasn't the role of the Mentoris –his smile became real— not yet, anyway. Soon, though.

"Go, explore this place and tell me what you think."

She drew back from him and there was a hint of disappointment in her eyes. Was the girl who thought so little of sex finally awakening to it? She also had her Gryffindor forwardness. He looked forward to exploiting _that_.

She tottered off down the long corridor and Severus shrugged out of his coat. Gret appeared beside him with a sharp crack, offering to take it. "Tea please, in the main reception room."

"Yes, Master Snape." With a pop the beaming elf vanished.

Severus ran his finger around the collar of his shirt, not used to how low it sat on his neck. He had a busy day ahead. Registering The Agreement at the Ministry –which would no doubt cause a flurry of excitement— and with it known, the owls would flood in. A ribboned-witch, after all held a very special place in their world. And at this point in time, even more so.

His time would be spent planning. And Merlin preserve him, tomorrow he would have to go _shopping_. He could at least make this flat his base and avoid the nightmare Grimmauld Place would become.

He pushed open the wide door and stepped into the bright, high-ceilinged room with its long series of windows, all of them magical. They showed the winter-greenery of Kensington Gardens, not the true view, which was simply a mirror of another mansion block.

He sank into the deep cushions of a long couch and crossed his legs. He didn't doubt that the Granger girl –contrary to the usual arrangement— would be sharing the flat with him by the end of the week. Molly, her shite of a son and the Mutt would make their views all too clear.

Gret reappeared with a tea service and set it on the low table before him. "Is Master Snape requiring anything else?"

"No, thank you."

The little elf grinned at him, bowed and vanished. _That_ would only get worse too. The pleasure of others at the roles they'd adopted. It had been at least thirty years since anyone felt safe enough to display the ribbon and ring. _Who_ they were would also be a factor. Recognised war heroes. He winced at the idea. The whole this was a fucking perfect storm.

"This place is beautiful." Granger burst into the room, her smile wide. "There's so much light in every room."

"Tea, Miss Granger."

She paused, her fingers half way to pulling one of the books from the run of bookshelves that stretched around the walls. "Yes, please."

Severus pinched the bridge of his nose. She didn't even have the basics in wizarding etiquette. He was going to roast Minerva for this. Yes, there should be allowances made for her being muggle-born, but the girl also had to survive a century –or more— in the wizarding world. He had always loathed the lack of effort made to integrate those not born into their society. Teaching them manners, the ways of wizards, protected them from insult and injury.

"First lesson," he said, his voice taking on the strict edge of the classroom. "I am your Mentoris. Your teacher, as it were. You defer to me."

A blush stained her cheeks. "I should pour the tea."

He nodded. "Milk, no sugar." He smirked. "Milk in first."

She gave a mock shudder. "Milk in after. So completely wrong."

He sighed. "You can't be this flippant when we're in company. Wizards are slow to change." She lifted her eyebrow in an uncanny echo of his own gesture and he fought not to smile. "Manners are still somewhere deep in the nineteenth century."

"Provide me with books, Severus." She frowned and paused in passing him the delicate teacup and saucer. Her blush deepened. "Should I use your first name?"

He took the cup from her. "The occasional 'sir' would be a pleasant change."

She poured her own tea and sat on one of the formal chairs, her posture perfect. She gave him a short smile. "I'm certain to gain an Outstanding in Casual Sarcasm. Sir."

His gaze narrowed, but he didn't check her. There would be enough formality in their conduct. To have that stretch into their private time would grate on his nerves. And add a reminder that she wasn't his equal, not in experience.

"Does this place suit?"

She grinned at him. "It's wonderful. There's a huge library on the other side of the hallway. You might not see me for days."

"Normally, we wouldn't share a living space. As with a Magister, a neutral place is chosen." Severus caught the brief flare of disappointment. For some strange reason the little chit wanted to spend time with him. He had to wonder what fantasy she was building in her head. He looked away. No doubt he would disappoint. He always did. "But…" He focused on her again and there was that little happy spark. Yes, the girl was addled. "Given that I am, in effect, homeless and you are trapped in Grimmauld Place _and_ that this flat is quite adequate for two people…"

"We'd live here. Together." Her blush was back. "Is that allowed?"

"It would be preferable, I'm sure, to living in the Mutt's pestilential dump."

Her mouth turned down at the corners to deny a smile. "With Mrs Weasley still in residence. And Sirius and Remus." She pulled a face. "And _Ron_." She tilted her head. "Would it be best to put on a show of staying…then escape, say, Friday?"

She thought like him. It still surprised him how quick she was. Though it shouldn't. He'd been denying her fierce intelligence for years. "Precisely."

She beamed at him, in a manner that would've made Gret proud. Did she crave approval from the one professor who hadn't fallen over himself to praise her?

"When you've finished, we can floo back to Grimmauld Place. I will have to leave you, as I must set up your itinerary. I will collect you tomorrow at nine in the morning. We must shop."

Her joy shrivelled. "Shop?"

"Clothes and accessories, Miss Granger. A necessary evil." He paused. Now that she had approved of the flat, he had one more piece of information to impart. He debated leaving it until the next night…but that was hardly fair. He was meant to breaking her in. Fuck.

He held down a wince. "As per custom, now that we have agreed to this meeting place, we must share a bed. I suggest tomorrow night, as I can then escort you to your new department in the Ministry."

She blinked, and the slight tremor of her fingers rattled her saucer…but her eyes, her eyes were dark. It wasn't fear. It was nerves and desire.

"Are you willing, Hermione?"

Oh he knew he was a bastard with that question. Knew it. But couldn't help himself. Not when her soft mouth parted and her pulse flickered at her throat. Even her ribbon glowed.

She licked her dried lips and Severus dick stirred. "Yes. Yes, sir."

The girl was pretty, oh-so-willing and mirrored his thoughts and dislikes. His cooling tea tasted foul in his mouth and his gut cramped. He was walking into trouble. The next three months would be hell.

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><p>Let me know what you think! :)<p> 


	7. Chapter 7

Thanks for all the review, faves and follows. I may slow down in posting as I have to write stuff that will make me money... lol

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><p>Hermione watched the green flare of flame die in the library hearth of Grimmauld Place, before she let her head fall against the cool marble of the mantle. Now she'd be playing house with him. Sharing a <em>bed<em> with him. Merlin save her, how was she supposed to stay detached?

She clasped her books to her chest. Her day would form around them. She had wanted to know how to move through the wizarding world. The fat book Severus had given her on etiquette and the disturbingly thin volume on The Virgin Agreement were her beginning.

"You're still a virgin, then."

Hermione held down a groan. A minute. Five. She would've welcomed some reprieve from Ron and his 'poor me, pity me' attitude. She turned and lifted her chin, aware that her upswept hair and the light through the dusty window made her ribbon shine.

Red mottled Ron's face and his mouth was twisted. He stuck his hands in his pockets, shoulders hunching. He looked like a disgruntled child. "You lied."

Hermione stared at him. _She'd_ lied? When _he_ was the one declaiming in overly loud whispers that he'd fucked her whilst riding Buckbeak? "I _said_ I'd chosen Professor Snape's expertise."

"This is some stunt. Something to prove you belong. Everyone will laugh, you know. A ribboned-witch is a _pureblood_ tradition."

Her fingers itched to slap him as anger roiled in her gut. How _dare_ he? Would punching him in the face count as initiating contact? It also probably wasn't proper etiquette to want to knee him in the balls either. "It's a _wizarding_ tradition, Ronald. And I am a witch."

"You really want to fuck the Great Bat?" He gave her a sneer worthy of the man he derided. "Honestly?"

"Honest?" She glared at him. "_Honest?_ Honest, would've been telling me about the danger I was in. Honest, would've been giving me a choice in how I protected myself. Did you ask your mother to speak to Professor McGonagall? Did you think if you 'got in first' I would stay with you?"

Ron blanched. Had he thought she hadn't known? And his reaction, the widening of his eyes, his sudden stillness, said that the boy she'd believed her friend had put his selfish desire before her safety.

"Did you _honestly_ think I wouldn't find out?"

"Fuck you, Mione."

She strode past him, anger and pain thick in her flesh. "Not a chance." She paused in the open doorway, fighting down her tears. The little shit would not see her cry. "And my name is _Hermione_."

She stamped up the stairs to her room. He'd known. He'd _asked_… Bastard. Absolute bastard. Was his bragging some sort of strange way to appease his guilt? To hide the fact that he'd wanted her virginity, but since he hadn't taken it, he didn't want others to know her dangerous status? Or was it worse? Hiding from his mother that he _hadn't_ slept with her? He was insane. His own word: mental. And she was well shot of him.

She slammed her way into her room and fell back against the closed door. Would people laugh? Point and sneer at the upstart muggle-born taking on such an ancient tradition?

Pinching the bridge of her nose, she huffed out a laugh. A Severus gesture. Already. Damn Ron. Come the end of the week she would be happily –albeit very nervously— installed in Prince Albert Mansions. Her life totally separate from Ron and his interfering mother.

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><p>Hunger finally drove her from reading her books. She'd hardly had any breakfast, after all. A glance at her clock proved it was well after one. Food, she needed food. She rolled off her rumpled bed and smoothed her hands over her creased clothes.<p>

A smile pulled at her mouth. Shopping with Severus Snape. Would he insist on full black? Would she appear in society as a mini him? Grabbing her books, she headed down to the kitchen.

Kreacher gave her his strange little smile and ushered her to sit in one of the warmer seats near the stove. The house elves seemed to be happy with her ribbon –though her book hadn't mentioned why. In fact it was bald on most facts. She made a note to herself to ask the little elf later on. When they were alone.

Because the kitchen was heaving. And silent. An almost full Weasley contingent and everyone from that morning, except Kingsley. The Burrow was still a wreck and Sirius had offered his house. The Weasley's seemed happy to take the rebuilding of their home at a slug's pace.

Too many eyes watched her as she picked her way to her seat, put her books on the table, and sat. Had Kreacher saved her this place, between Harry and Remus? A buffer against the rest of the room.

"I didn't know you were back," Harry said, reaching across for a dish of potatoes and handing it to her. "Though Kreacher is now insisting this is your seat." He grinned at her. "You're corrupting my elf."

She grinned at him and spooned potatoes onto her warm plate. "I wasn't out long."

Cutlery clanked and she looked across the table to Ron. Her former-friend glared at her. She gave him a polite –if snippy— smile and thanked Remus as he offered her a plate of sliced beef.

Tension only thickened, no one speaking. Harry was biting back a grin, the pressure only making him want to laugh. Hermione took a sip of her water. Was every meal going to be this way? She'd have a gut rotted by indigestion before the day was out. So, she decided to prick the strain.

She put down her glass. She didn't have to offer an explanation to anyone, according to her book. Her decision was her concern alone. No wizard or witch could question it, even as Ron already had. It was almost...blasphemous. But then Ron always had been a thoughtless idiot. She drew in a breath, still she _had_ to say something. "Yes, I am a ribboned-witch. And yes, Professor Snape is my Mentoris. I asked him for this honour."

"_Honour_." Ron bit out the word and stabbed his fork into a cut of beef.

Hermione ignored him. "So now we can carry on as normal."

"We most certainly cannot." Sirius muttered from his seat at the head of the table.

The others shifted uncomfortably. It was obvious Percy, with his hands tense and white either side of his plate, wanted to run. At least the twins were absent. She still had their reaction to endure. Ginny gawped. Openly. Mrs Weasley wasn't looking at her, but she was breathing hard and heavy, as if _she_ were the wronged party.

"Hermione." Sirius placed his knife and fork deliberately across his cleared plate. "You understand our concerns. It's Snape. _Snape_. You should have come to us, to _me_—"

"Sirius!" Remus' interruption was short and clipped.

Hermione reddened. Sirius had practically propositioned her. It was in her book. To suggest that she go to another man whilst she wore the ribbon was scandalous.

Sirius frowned. "I didn't mean it like that." But the flush to his face told a different story. "I _meant_, if you needed advice or a recommendation—"

"Merlin, Sirius, hold your tongue," Remus growled. "A ribboned-witch has made her choice."

His old friend blinked and his grey eyes fixed on Hermione's throat as if seeing what she wore for the first time. His flush deepened. He sat back in his chair and shook his head. "My apologies, Hermione. It's been so long since anyone was brave enough to show their status, I forgot myself."

She smiled. "Accepted."

Mrs Weasley huffed, even as her husband placed his hand on hers. "This is wrong." Her hard whisper carried. "To choose this. To choose _him_."

"As opposed to what?" Hermione wouldn't let that insult go. "No choice at all?"

"Don't take that tone with me, my girl." Mrs Weasley glared at her, but Hermione didn't back down. "You are muggle-born and new to our ways."

Hermione snorted. "I seemed to catch on to magic _fairly_ quickly. I'm certain I would've coped with the choice."

"You even sound like him, now," Ron muttered. "What did he stick in you to do that?"

"Ron!" His father clipped him across the back of the head. His son yelped, muttered under his breath, shoved away his plate and left the table. He stamped from the kitchen.

"I'm sorry, Hermione." Mr Weasley gave her an embarrassed smile. He turned hard eyes on his wife. "Nothing more will be said."

Mrs Weasley's mouth thinned and the dark shine of rebellion lit her eyes. Nothing more would be said _then_. Hermione was certain that the minute Mr Weasley was out of earshot, Mrs Weasley would have _a lot_ to say. Instead, she followed her son. Her husband, with more murmured apologies left too. Percy saw his chance and fled.

Harry sat back in his chair. "Wow, you know how to clear a room, Hermione."

A laugh burst from her, sharp and unrestrained, a sudden release of pressure. "I do. I should be hired out at parties to relieve them of unwelcome guests."

Sirius grinned and rose from his seat. "I have a date to prepare for."

"At seven." Remus winced. "Five hours, Sirius, really?"

"I wouldn't want to disappoint." He gave a half-formal bow to Hermione, turned on his heel and was gone.

"And then there were four," Hermione said, turning back to her food. "I have an untapped skill. I do."

Ginny leant forward across the table, her eyes bright and wide, and almost vibrating with the idea of such delicious gossip. "So what were you thinking, Hermione? Really. Because, well, _Snape_?"

"Ginevra." Remus' low voice froze the younger witch. Her cheeks pinked and something passed between them, a command, a power that Ginny couldn't avoid or deny.

Ginny's eyes dropped and she sat back, her spine straight. "My apologies, Magister," she murmured. She looked up and held Hermione's gaze. "I'm sorry, Hermione."

Hermione wet her dried lips, too shocked for a moment to speak. Remus still held that much power over the younger witch, even though both of them were in firm relationships with other people. Remus was _married_… Would Severus still affect her in such a way when she…moved on?

She gave a belated smile to her friend, realising she hadn't replied. "Thanks, Ginny."

She was too aware of Harry's silence. Was he as shocked as her at the…connection between his friend and his girlfriend? It was likely that Remus had never had to reprimand Ginny before. This was a mess. A mess that could've been avoided years before. Severus was right and this confirmed their decision. She would have to leave. Even those who supported her were uncomfortable with her choice. She did wonder how she would last till Friday. At least a full day at work would have her out of the house now.

A glittering silver wolf patronus burst into the room and bounded towards Remus. It leapt up, pressing its paws onto his shoulders and its tongue licked his cheek. Tonks' voice burst from its open jaws. _"Remus, come find me at the Ministry. Nothing dangerous, fatal, or in fact fun."_ And with that the silver wolf dissolved.

A soft smile broke across the wizard's scarred face. "If you'll excuse me. My master's voice."

As the kitchen door closed behind him, Ginny's head hit the table. She caught her fingers in her hair and scrunched them tight. "Merlin's saggy ball sack, how mortifying was that?"

"So that doesn't happen often?"

There was an edge to Harry's voice that had his girlfriend looking up. His mouth had thinned and Hermione thought she saw the hints of hurt and anger lurking in his eyes. Shit, she wished she were anywhere but this bloody house.

Ginny straightened. "It was his right, Harry. I insulted Hermione. He worked with The Agreement. Any witch or wizard who's acted in the senior role –either Magister or Mentoris— will defend it and the insulted party."

Hermione pulled in a breath. She couldn't have her decision affecting her friends. "Harry, you don't have to worry. I'll be out of here by the end of the week. I have another place to stay."

Ginny's mouth dropped open. Her words came out in a raw whisper. "You'll be _living_ with him? That's…" Something flashed through her eyes, and Hermione wondered if it was Remus' remembered rebuke. "That's unusual."

"Could you imagine if we were both _here_?"

Ginny let out an unladylike snort. "Gods, there wouldn't be walls left for the duels."

Harry handed his empty plate to Kreacher. He leaned forward, his elbows on the scrubbed table and swept back his untidy her. His jaw muscles were tight. "Hermione, you're okay with all of this? You've turned you life upside down for well, for sex."

"Harry…" Ginny groaned. "You don't get how almost _sacred_ a ribboned-witch is. The Ribbon and the Ring. They're symbols of protection, of taking our place -publicly- in society. It's ancient stuff. You can't question or mock it."

Hermione shook her head. "No, it's okay. It's just us here." She stroked the band of silk at her throat. "And yes, this takes some getting to. Perhaps I'm not prepared. I can't imagine other people's reactions. And the _Prophet_? Skeeter will be foaming at the mouth and I don't have any sway with her now she's a registered animagus."

She sighed. "But I'm committed. And I do want this." Her gaze dropped, the memory of Severus' fingers on her throat and the fire his magic had seared through her flesh holding her. "I want it a lot."

"I'm proud of you, Hermione."

She looked up, surprised at Ginny's words when she had so obviously reared away from the idea only minutes before.

"I know. I Snape-freaked." Ginny grinned and Harry snorted. "But you stepping up like this, it's an absolute sign that bastard-snake-face is gone. For good." She wiggled in her chair. "I could kiss you, but then Snape might get the wrong idea and hex me to death."

Hermione let out a relieved breath. "Hopefully everything settles soon."

Kreacher took away her plate and replaced it with a bowl of sticky toffee pudding. He smiled again and Hermione thanked him. Picking up her spoon, she found Harry frowning at her.

"You've completely bespelled him. _I_ don't have pudding."

"Miss is special," Kreacher muttered, pushing a similar bowl in front of Harry. "Now you have pudding."

Hermione snickered, pressing her hand to her mouth as Harry's face flared red at Kreacher's censure. She lost it when Ginny spluttered a laugh, until they were all caught in it.

She wiped the forming tears from her eyes and turned her attention to her dessert. It would be fine. It would all be fine. As long as she didn't do something stupid… The thought of what that idiot thing could be burned at the back of her thoughts. She kept it there. Severus was a legilimens and her skill at occulumency was weak at best. She would not think it. She would _never_ think it.

Scraping her bowl clean and complimenting Kreacher on his excellent dessert –at which he beamed— Hermione stood and collected her books. "I'm still trawling through the etiquette book. The minutiae of it is brain-curdling."

"And that's _a lot_ of curdling."

Hermione whacked Harry on the shoulder with said book and he grunted. "I will see you at dinner. Hopefully it will be less…tense."

"Fingers crossed," Ginny muttered.

Hermione left them in the kitchen and took to the stairs. Reading in the silence of her room –even if she had to work out on her fingers who sat where when there was an odd number of purebloods and a distant Malfoy relation at the dinner party— would be relaxing.

She pushed open the door and stepped into the room, her mind already on her book, before it registered that someone had disturbed her wards. Her door slammed behind her and she span around, her heart catching.

Ron pressed his back against the door, blocking her escape. "We need to talk."

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><p>The KreacherHarry/pudding interaction makes me snort every time...

As ever, let me know what you think! :)


	8. Chapter 8

Here I am again *shuffles feet*. And after posting this I will work on my dark, Byzantine fantasy romance. I will... *more shuffling*

I am so happy that people like this little fic and are as invested in it and the ss/hg ship as I am. It's nice to know I'm not alone in my obsession *grin*

Also, I did not start a third story. I didn't. Because that would be utterly insane...

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><p>Hermione dropped her books and her wand whipped into her hand. Her pulse drummed. Fuck. <em>Fuck<em>. "Get out, Ron."

He lifted his hands, palm out, obviously empty. "Look, Mione –_Hermione_— I know I messed everything up. Everything." He pushed his fingers through his hair and Hermione's wand hand twitched. "But we can start again. We are meant to be together. We have been from the very beginning. You know that." He winced. "This thing with Snape. I know I shouldn't have pressured you, but really, a joke's a joke. You're taking it too far."

"It is not a joke." She bit out every word.

"Come _on_. Snape? You're going to let _Snape_ touch you in every way you wouldn't let me?"

Her face burned, anger boiling through her. He was moving from a scandalous suggestion to a completely offensive one. Her magic flared in her hair, it lifted and the familiar metallic stink filled her senses. What kind of ignorant shit was he? Not one mention of how she was his friend. That he liked her. Even a wild stab that he loved her. No, it was all about what _he_ wanted. Did Ron see her as some kind of flesh doll? One with which only _he_ was allowed to play?

"Yes. Yes, I am. I'm going to let him. And you know what? I will enjoy every single second." She jabbed her wand at the door. "Now get out. Before I tell your father, or Remus." She gave him a twisted smile. "Or _Severus_."

His hands curled into fists. "Hermione." Her name came out between gritted teeth. "Be sensible. You must see this is wrong."

"Why do you care?" She shrugged. "Why care about who I give myself to first?"

"Because we should be together. Mum said…Mum approves of us." His face flushed, with anger or eagerness she couldn't tell in the half shadows of the room. "And the fact that muggle-borns –when you get going, when a wizard has you first— you love to get down to it. Honest, you will."

Hermione stared at him, a pain stabbing under her ribs at his words. "Is this what you've always thought about me?"

"You're my friend. You've always been my friend, Hermione. But we both have needs."

"You've had girlfriends." They were free to leave the house now so if sex was what he needed why wasn't he out hunting down Lavender Brown? "I'm very happy for you to go out and find someone else."

"We don't need other people." He let out a slow sigh and took a step away from the door. Heat flared through Hermione and her grip tightened on her wand. A hex formed on her lips. "I'm saying this all wrong." He gave her the lopsided grin she had once swooned over. It didn't work, it had long stopped working, and even if it hadn't, she was on the edge of panic. "You're the brains. Can't you see? You don't need another man to teach you. _I_ can teach you."

"No, Ron." She shook her head. "This –he— is what I want."

"Hermione…"

Ron reached out for her and she staggered back, away from his touch. Behind her, the fire flared green in her hearth. Ron froze and in the same instant, an arm wrapped around her, pulling her against a hard chest. Parchment and herbs. _Severus_.

Hermione let out a relieved breath, but still she didn't lower her wand. She would never make that mistake.

"Mr Weasley." His voice was low, quiet, the Potions Master at his most deadly. "What are you doing in Miss Granger's room?"

Ron straightened and his expression was mulish. "Talking."

"At the point of her wand?"

"We were, weren't we, Hermione?"

She could support him. Fall back on something of their old friendship. Yet, she didn't seem to know him anymore. He appeared to be blinded by the need to sleep with her to the exclusion of everything else. Including common sense. "He was talking. I was asking him to leave."

Ron's face darkened. "You can't choose him. He's a Death Eater. A murderer."

Severus' wand joined hers and the crackle of his power danced across her skin. "She can and she has. Leave, Mr Weasley before I call you out. I am more than within my rights. And as you so kindly pointed out, I _have_ killed before."

Ron blinked. The realisation hit him quick and hard that he was suddenly in the position of being called to duel by Severus Snape. He stumbled back against the door, his hand searching blindly for the doorknob.

"This is your last warning. Heed it."

Ron fled.

Hermione's wand arm dropped and she almost sagged. "I'm sorry, I wasn't paying attention when I entered the room. I didn't think he was so familiar with my wards. He was already inside. He didn't…he didn't touch me."

Severus turned her in his arms. His wand had vanished, and he tilted her chin up. His obsidian eyes fixed on her, held her. "You aren't at fault, Hermione." His soft words warmed her, his fingers gentle on her cheek making her heart beat hard. Her dream, her fantasy, the memory of the photograph in the _Prophet_ flickered through her thoughts.

"Is that what you want?"

She barely registered his words before his lips were on hers, sure, smooth, the light buss of familiarity. Her chest tightened, her eyes drifting shut.

"Such an easily pleased little witch."

She gave him an embarrassed smile and let out a long breath and pressed her forehead to his throat. He'd changed again, once more in his wizarding robes, all -supposedly- repressed correctness. She shouldn't let herself fall so easily, but she couldn't seem to help it. "You knew. Even though he didn't get near me."

"This knew." Severus lifted his hand away, showing the underside of his ring. The faint hints of magic still clung to it in a silver mist. "I…felt your anger, disappointment, fear."

"Thank you for coming. I was about to hex him."

"Next time, drop him the minute he opens his mouth."

She laughed, though there was a thick vein of sadness, of bitterness to it. How close had she come to making a massive mistake with Ron? If Lavender Brown hadn't intervened in the Sixth Year, would Ron's utter belief that they should be a couple still remain? Or was she simply someone –something— unattainable? She couldn't reason Ron's actions. She wondered if he could himself.

Severus placed a kiss against her forehead and stood back. He straightened and in the thin light of her room appeared to be the stark and forbidding Potions Master again. And really that fierce authority did not make her belly flip. It didn't.

"You have your reading. I have my role as your social secretary." His dark voice dripped disdain, but she couldn't help herself. She smiled. He touched her cheek, his calloused thumb moving to draw a line under her bottom lip. "Stay out of further trouble, Miss Granger." He gave her a brief bow. "Until tomorrow."

She expected him to floo away, but he left by her bedroom door.

Hermione stared at the closed door and let out a slow groan. She hoped this was the last time Ron decided to act like an idiot. She winced. It was _Ron_. He did seem to have an aptitude for it.

She sighed and flopped onto her bed, staring up at the smooth ceiling. Her skin still tingled from Severus' touch. She stroked her lip, carefully, not wanting to disturb the memory of his thumb, his lips against hers…

"Circe's fat pigs!" The curse burned from her, her hands slapping hard against the mattress. She couldn't give in to this crush. Severus wanted –demanded— experience. She couldn't spend her time mooning over every slight trace of him on her skin like a Second Year.

She closed her eyes and against all of her good intentions, the feeling of his breath stirring her skin and the light brush of his lips over her forehead made her belly dip. Had that been affection? Or was this how the secretive wizard behaved with his…women?

Hermione growled at herself, used her wand to flick her dropped books back into her hand, lit a lamp and willed herself back into her research.

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><p>I love your reviews, faves and follows! :D<p> 


	9. Chapter 9

I'll be slowing down further as the juggernaut of chaos that is end of term and Christmas is fast approaching. No weird nativities for me, though my eldest is performing in a _very_ strange Christmas play...

As ever, none of this belongs to me...because I wouldn't have been such a shit to Severus...

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><p>"He's gone."<p>

Ginny plopped herself down beside Hermione and smiled at Kreacher as he pushed a bacon sandwich in front of her.

The kitchen was empty, still too early on a Sunday morning for many people to rouse themselves out of a cold bed. Hermione had slept hard, her dreams packed with tea parties and how far she should bow to the Wizarding Minister from France, in comparison to his counterpart in Luxembourg. It had been a relief to wake up. She's showered, felt vaguely alive and sought her breakfast.

Kreacher was being uncommonly nice again and questions as to why had half formed in her brain when Ginny appeared.

"Who's gone? Everyone was here at dinner." Well, from what little time she'd spent there. Except Severus. He'd obviously completely decamped to Prince Albert Mansions. Lucky him.

"My slack-brained brother."

Hermione frowned. "You have several."

"Hey!" Ginny slapped her arm. "There's only one. No two. Oh wait..." She smirked. "All right, I'll allow your confusion. Ronnikins. He's gone. Dad packed him off to Charlie last night."

A fist tightened in Hermione's chest. It was quickly followed by hot relief. Maybe all that Ron needed was a change of scenery. He would certainly get that in Romania.

"It gets better." Ginny made a show of glancing around the empty kitchen. "I overhead Dad and your Mentoris."

Severus had had Ron removed. Hermione's hand trembled and she wrapped her fingers around her cup of coffee to disguise it. The bleeding heat of the mug broke into her shock. Her mind jumped. Mrs Weasley. Merlin's balls. She would be on a rampage now that Hermione had had her precious son removed. "What…what did they say?"

"Professor Snape caught him on the second landing. I was in my room, the door part open. And he was _angry_." Ginny shivered. "You know that quiet vibrating fury thing he has?" She snorted. "Scared me so much, _I_ wanted to apologise for whatever it was that had upset him.

"So he reminded Dad what he was to you. Said he'd found Ron in your room –because my brother is an Outstanding Idiot, First Class— and that he'd only held back his right to duel in deference to Dad and their long association."

Severus hadn't cast his own spell to disguise the conversation. The wizard had been a double agent for almost two decades. It wasn't likely that after only days of a full peace, he would forget something that had to have become second nature. Hermione's mouth twitched. Sneaky Slytherin. He wanted this conversation to get back to her.

"Dad didn't argue. He said Ron would be in Romania by the end of the day." Ginny grimaced. "Snape had every right to roast Ron."

Hermione nodded. "I hope he finds peace out there."

"So what's your day about?" Ginny picked up her sandwich and practically inhaled it. Definitely a Weasley thing. With so many mouths around, you had to get to your food fast.

"Shopping." Hermione bit the word out like a curse.

"With Snape? Public already? Wow."

"What was it like, with Remus?" Hermione flushed and she held up her hands. "Argh, not like _that_. I mean, yesterday, you obviously still have that connection in some form."

Ginny stared into her mug, the tops of her cheeks pink. The normally confident girl appeared almost shy. For a long time, she was silent until a soft smile touched her lips. "It's such a special time, Hermione. Really. I mean, we had to hide, because of snake-face and because of Remus' little problem, but beyond what he taught me in bed, he became my friend, my guide. We would talk. Simply talk. It was…nice. He put me on the path to what a relationship should be about."

The younger witch looked to the ribbon around Hermione's throat. "Some days I ached for what you have now. For the war to be over and for Remus to be my practical guide to the world, not just in theory." Her eyes glistened. "You'll probably get that a lot. A host of witches and wizards envious that you can walk freely, where as we had to hide."

Hermione squeezed Ginny's hand, her own throat tight. "I didn't mean to upset you."

"Enjoy this time, Hermione. It will go over so fast." She sighed and her expression changed, became sly. "So, Yule with the Professor…?"

Hermione groaned. "A present. I'll have to buy him a present." She muttered under her breath as she took a sip of her coffee. "The book on The Agreement has hardly anything in it. It's so open to interpretation by the Mentoris."

"I think the Professor will be prepared for anything, don't you?" Ginny was openly smirking now and Hermione's face warmed.

She sometimes forgot that she wasn't reading for a lesson or an essay, but for a wizard to get her naked and hopefully do deliciously wicked things to her. Her chest tightened. Starting that night?

"I bet he talks, a lot…"

"_Ginny!_"

Her friend poured herself a fresh cup of tea. "Oh come on, you don't think he could use that voice simply to talk a witch out of her knickers?"

Hermione buried her face in her hands. Of course she thought that. He'd only said one sentence to her, _'Miss Granger has always been a most _willing_ pupil' _and she'd been ready to throw herself at him. "Ginny. Shut up."

Ginny laughed. She stretched her spine. "Almost nine. Someone should be getting up soon. I swear this house has made us all lazy." She poked Hermione in the arm. "Do you know if Sirius made it home last night? He is so _bad_, never the same witch twice."

"I agree, Miss Weasley. I shall let you into a secret. He is not invited back."

Ginny squeaked and Hermione looked up from her hands. Severus stood in the kitchen doorway, dressed in his formal black robes with the hint of snowy white at this cuffs and collar. Not as startling as his wearing of muggle clothes the day before, but in the soft mix of light in the kitchen he was completely imposing. Her belly did that stupid flip again.

She worked a smile across her mouth. "Good morning, Severus."

"Hermione."

Had he heard what Ginny had said about his voice, because the way he said her name was almost indecent. Ginny slid her a glance and mouthed, 'I told you'.

Hermione's voice was almost strangled as she asked, "Would you like tea?"

A flicker of a smile played across his mouth. "No, thank you. I've made an appointment for you at Twillfit and Tattings for nine thirty." He watched her stand, his gaze assessing. "You're ready?"

She looked down to her plain blue skirt and thick-knit jumper. Transfiguring something to match Severus' elegance had escaped her that morning. She'd not bought anything new for years. Living in a tent, the war and trapped in Grimmauld Place, meant she existed on cast offs and hand-me-downs. She shrugged. She couldn't lie. "It's all I have, I'm sorry. I can transfigure…"

Severus flicked his wand. Red fabric, silky-smooth and warm, wrapped around her, forming into a dress that stopped at her knees, revealed the respected amount of décolleté and that hugged her body in exactly the right way, neither daring nor frumpy.

Severus Snape had missed his calling. He should've been a fashion designer. Hermione grinned up at him and he frowned. A muscle jumped in his jaw. "Is the spell holding in the coat and boots your wore yesterday?"

Hermione nodded and moved past him into the hallway, kicking off her slippers as she found her boots. Severus held up her coat and slipped it onto her shoulders. Her eyes closed at the delicate skim of his fingers. Ginny had said that as her Mentoris he would show her what to strive for in a relationship. She had the horrible feeling Severus Snape would spoil her for all other men.

"Good luck with your try out today, Miss Weasley."

Hermione stared back at Ginny. She'd totally forgotten. The Holyhead Harpies had sent an open invitation over the summer, aware of the safety issues still threatening those who'd openly fought Voldemort and his Death Eaters. Ginny had decided earlier in the week that Sunday was the day. The Agreement had put it out of Hermione's thoughts. "Gin, I'm so sorry. You won't need luck though, you'll be brilliant."

The younger witch grinned at them. "Thanks. Have fun shopping." And she laughed. "Seriously, your faces."

Severus closed the kitchen door on her and urged Hermione along the dim corridor. Opening the door, they moved out into the chill of the square. She moved her hand into the crook of his arm –as she knew she should— and pressed her fingers into his sleeve. "Thank you for Ron."

He gave her a slight nod, glanced around the quiet square and pulled her in close. The touch of his mouth over hers caught her thoughts and senses as the fierce pressure of apparition twisted her.

Diagon Alley was almost as quiet as the square in which Sirius' townhouse sat. Almost. Shopkeepers bustled about, pulling back shutters, opening doors and setting out their wares. Early customers peered into just opened windows. And more than one cast a curious look in their direction.

Severus' breath heated her skin, his lips too close to her ear. Her heart thudded. Would she be able to capture this heady want with another man? Or was this simply the reaction of an inexperienced girl overwhelmed by a sophisticated man?

He stepped back and his hand took hers. He pressed his lips to her knuckles as he had the day before. "You look lovely this morning, Miss Granger." His dark eyes held her and a shine of amusement forced her insides to twist? Did he mean it, or was he mocking her? Was this another lesson? To know when a man was toying with you?

She gave him a sharp little smile. "Thank you. And you look very…dashing."

He lifted an eyebrow. "That is a new one." He folded her arm into his. "We could be a while here. Madam Athcasta –the proprietor— will feed us."

"Do we have a patron?" Her book had mentioned another witch or wizard could put money up for their expenses. Hermione knew that tradition wouldn't let her contribute, but she hated to think that she'd conned Severus into this deal and was forcing him to part with money he couldn't afford.

"Minerva. She has a pile of galleons left to her by Albus, so far untouched."

"Guilt money."

Severus didn't deny it.

A wizened and elderly wizard stopped still in the ornate doorway of Flourish and Blott's and stared. His gnarled hand went to his throat. It shook. The young witch with him took his arm as he suddenly staggered. His mouth gaped and tears glistened in his wrinkled eyes. The witch frowned at them, unsure what her friend had seen. Hermione gripped the collar of her coat, keeping it tight and up against the cold wind.

She swallowed against the tightness in her throat. Had that old wizard worn the ribbon? "It's going to get very strange, isn't it?" she murmured.

Severus' lips twitched and he glanced down at her. "Very strange indeed."

* * *

><p>Madam Athcasta was a tall willowy woman with an ethereal beauty and the colouring and bearing of Narcissa Malfoy. She stood in the open doorway of her tall, thin shop, obviously waiting on them.<p>

Her pale eyes moved over Hermione, delaying on her covered throat. Her expression didn't change from that slight sneer that seemed to say she smelt something…unpleasant. Hermione fought down the urge to bristle. Severus covered her hand with his own.

"I have put aside the day for you." Madam Athcasta's voice was lilting with a hint of a French accent. "Is this acceptable?"

Severus gave the woman a short bow. "It is. Thank you."

"I have your itinerary for the season, Professor Snape. It is not complete. I have chosen…ensembles to compliment those events I do have, for both you and Miss…Granger? Come in. Welcome." She waved a long, slender arm into the dark interior of her shop. "We have much work to do." A frown deepened her almost sneer. "Much work."

Hermione lifted her shoulders and gave the witch a polite smile. It was going to be a long, _long_ day.

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><p>Let me know what you think! :)<p> 


	10. Chapter 10

Sorry about the delay - Madam Athcasta was giving me trouble.

Everything's a bit up in the air now, so I won't get back to a proper posting schedule till the New Year.

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><p>Hermione shoved down the need to very politely tell Madam Athcasta where she could shove a bolt of her very expensive green silk. And chase it with the armoury of pins with which the infuriating woman had managed to stab her thirty four times.<p>

Thirty four. Hermione had started a silent count after the fourth pin found her skin without so much as a murmured apology. She hadn't looked to Severus. She could handle this.

He sat in a deep, wing backed chair, one leg crossed over the other, his face...unrevealing. The candle light of the circular, fabric-lined fitting room limned his face and shone against the curtain of inky black hair. It was difficult not to stare at him, to _need_ to stare at him. The memory of his touch, the lightest of kisses that had seared her lips still haunted her.

His sophistication drew her. She wanted it for herself. That complete self assurance in any situation. Craved it. And him. His confidence was magnetic.

"That I have to work with such...material."

Madam Athcasta's quiet acidity pricked as sharply as the numerous pins. Bloody woman. But it was a point of pride not to complain, and not to complain to Severus. She had the suspicion that the _madam_ and the professor had history. After all, Athcasta tailored to the wealthiest in society, which meant purebloods, which presupposed Death Eaters...

Hermione hissed as the thirty fifth pin found her hip. All of her stoicism vanished. Enough. Bloody enough. Especially with that nasty little smirk on the witch's perfect face. "Madam, perhaps we should stop for refreshments. You're _still_ unable to tell the difference between my skin and the silk."

The witch's mouth thinned. She stepped back. "Apologies, Miss Granger. I was not expecting such flesh there."

Severus uncurled from his chair and offered her his hand. Hermione stepped down from the podium set in the centre of the room. She drew in a breath and wanted nothing more to lean against him and have his arms wrap around her. For two hours, the hideous woman had muttered under her breath about the _quality_ of her client, and how she was expected to show off such mutton? To have _her_ name, a witch who had dressed the royalty of Europe, reduced to this...

"How long?" Hermione murmured, watching the ragged little house elf arrange tea and little delicacies on a high table as the odious madam swept from the room in a rush of silk and thick perfume. "I hate this place."

Severus stroked her cheek and she leant into his warm touch, wanting more, wanting him to hold her and promise that, truly it was over and they could leave. Right now. "She has finished your evening wear. Day and work wear are to follow. Then I must be outfitted."

Hermione blinked. "You. But you're already..." The word 'perfect' hovered on her lips, but she bit it back. Her face heated and his dark smile said he knew exactly the thought she'd tried to withhold.

"You will be moving in rarefied company, Hermione. I cannot disgrace you by appearing...shabby."

With a quick crack the elf disappeared and they were alone in the intimate, candlelit fitting room. Hermione's heart was in her throat, all thought of the hideous owner of the shop chased from her mind. His mouth was so close, his heat, his scent working its delicious magic on her flesh. They should show propriety in a public setting, an example of the best wizarding etiquette. But all that could go to the wind because she _wanted_ him. "Severus..."

Impossibly, his eyes grew darker. His thumb stroked a slow, _slow_ line under her bottom lip. "Are you trying to tempt me, little witch?"

His hot breath burned against her parted mouth. "Am I succeeding?"

Severus' soft huff of laughter tightened her heart and her need for more, more than his body and skill twisted within her. "Very nearly." He stepped back and cold air and disappointment swept over Hermione. He looked to the closed door. "Madam Athcasta returns."

"She hates me."

"Amelia can be a...difficult woman."

Hermione lifted an eyebrow, even as she crushed the swift kick of jealousy. "Amelia?"

"I trust her."

Was all he said before the woman surged back into the room. "You are to work in archives, is that correct, Miss Granger?" She snapped her fingers and pointed to the podium again. So much for a break. "You'll require something sturdy then. Spelled to resist dust and ink." She sniffed. "I understand that you'll be crawling around on dirty floors too."

Hermione pressed her lips together. "I will do whatever is needed of me."

The witch's pale eyes narrowed. "Will you?"

The edge to her voice sent an unpleasant shiver down her spine. She resisted looking to Severus. Something about it concerned him and she wanted some clue. But she doubted a former –successful— double agent would reveal anything.

"Severus, may I have my wand, please?"

Without any comment, it was presented to her, handle first. She took it and cast a quick _Adamantinus_ over her skin, denying the witch her chance to stab her another thirty times. Severus lifted an eyebrow as she offered him her wand again. She gave him a tight little smile and stepped back onto the circular podium.

Madam Athcasta's brows had narrowed and Hermione hoped the crease there became permanent. Had the woman doubted she was a witch? "I'm ready to continue, Madam."

Her scowl cleared and her pale eyes hardened. She Summoned a bolt of dark fabric, the light catching on it reminding her of the oily sheen of Severus' teaching robes.

"I don't believe Miss Granger needs to resemble a stuffy academic, Amelia." Severus added milk to a delicate china cup. "Sensible, yet stylish. We will, after all, be of interest to the _Daily Prophet_, as well as other periodicals."

"As you say, Severus."

The slight remains of her accent teased around his name and Hermione ignored another hit of jealousy. Had Severus learned his skill with tailoring magic from this witch?

She closed her eyes and drew in calming breaths. Not much longer. Then she could escape.

Fabric wrapped around her, the tingle of magic cool and quick. And no pins. _Quelle surprise_, as the witch herself would say. In so very short a time, Madam Athcasta stepped back, her sneer back in place. Severus had reminded her that for good or ill, her creations would make an appearance in a lot of papers. Attaching her name and style to something as sacred as a ribbon-witch would force her to make an effort.

Still, Hermione wished he'd chosen another tailor.

"We are done." Madam Athcasta presented her with a slim, hardback volume. "Your hair is unnatural. There are charms within this book which can…tame it. Also spells for your skin."

Hermione blinked. She stopped her fisted hand from pressing against her chest. Had the cow sensed her glamours? Was she having a dig at her scarred skin? She took the book –because it was a book, and she never refused a book— and stepped down from the stupid platform.

She wanted to sit and eat. Her stomach growled and she didn't care that the tiny little sandwiches were slightly curled or the delicate and fancy cakes had hardened. She'd inhale the lot.

"Hermione."

Severus held out three wands. One was hers. His body's warmth still heated the wood of the smooth, ebony wand and the long Lebanese cedar. Hermione held the wands reverently. He was trusting her with them. Both of them.

She sank back into the chair Severus had sat in, his wands on her lap, her own tucked into her sleeve, the warmth and scent of him surrounding her. Wandlessly, he waved his hand down his chest, and the numerous buttons to his frock coat, slipped free. He shrugged and Madam Athcasta, standing behind, caught the loose material.

Hermione frowned. The witch's hands were on his back, stroking down as she eased the coat from him. It was blatant. Hermione looked away, even as her fingers formed fists around his wands. The smoothness of the ebony and the rich scent of the warmed cedar unexpectedly calmed the uneven thud of her heart.

His life was his own. Though it was hardly –seemly— for another witch to paw him in front of her. Athcasta murmured something and Severus replied in equally low, smooth French.

A few hard heartbeats later, Athcasta had him stood on the platform, her hands on his hips, her thumbs following the dip of his pelvis in a way that made Hermione blush. His eyebrow had risen, his expression unreadable.

Hermione fixed her attention on the tiers of delicate little pastries and sandwiches. She willed herself not to think of that witch's hands on him. She had to think of something -anything- else. She had no idea he was so fluent in French. Yet more of his sophistication. She almost winced as she ate. Everything about him drew her…but what —if anything— would draw him to _her_? An eager-to-please know-it-all. And usually she had all the subtlety of a bludger to the face.

Earlier, she truly believed she was tempting him, finding him as wanting of her as she was of him. But how much of it was real? He was her Mentoris. Her teacher. It was his _role_ to seduce her.

The pastry in her mouth soured. Was _any _of his interest in her real?

* * *

><p>"Please say that we never, never <em>ever<em> have to do that again?"

Hermione flopped into the deep, plump sofa dominating the larger reception room of Prince Albert Mansions. Gret scuttled forward with tea and she could've kissed him. "Thank you, Gret." She smiled at him and his face reddened, his ears flicking.

Severus accepted a cup. "Madam Athcasta has your measurements—"

"And yours," Hermione muttered, her cup at her lips, watching over the rim as he sank back into a nearby chair. She crushed the thought that he would go back to the loathsome witch for more of her obvious touches...

"So it should be unnecessary. The bulk of your ensembles—"

"_Please_, shoes and frocks."

Severus mouth thinned. "If you could refrain from interrupting me."

Hermione blushed, the hot rise of anger and bitterness still chasing through her blood. "Sorry. That woman…" She shuddered. "My clothes will be kept here? Even magically, I couldn't fit so many in my room in Grimmauld Place."

"Yes. Gret has retrieved them. Work wear will go home with you for the week." His head tilted. "You still plan to move here on Friday."

"Oh, gods, yes. I'm sure Mrs Weasley plans to make my life hell from now on."

"But not tonight."

"No."

She took another sip of her tea to deny the sudden tremor in her hands. She wanted to ask more, a host of question burned on her tongue, but every single one of them would show her inexperience. The book had said little. It had mentioned the first sharing of a bed, which had to happen quickly after the ribbon was placed. But nothing more. Would they simply sleep? Or was tonight the night she stopped being a virgin? The Mentoris' judgement trumped everything. Did Severus believe she was ready?

She put her cup down and glanced at the clock on the mantle. It was barely eight. She had to do something. "I'm going to change and disappear into the library."

"As you wish."

She smiled and all but ran from the room. She hated that she had no idea what she was doing. And that her one source of information, of experience would simply look at her with a sly tilt to his mouth and amused eyes. It also didn't help that there was an almost permanent hum to her flesh. And a desire to fling herself on him given the slightest invitation.

He expected her to initiate…something. She simply wished she knew that that something was.

The room she'd chosen was on the lower floor, which also held a vast space with its own, angled reception room and to the back, a large kitchen. Gret was bustling about before a new set of doors in her bedroom. He smiled at her.

"I made your bathroom smaller. Not so much, but enough. You need space for your clothes." He opened the pale, double doors to reveal a whole room dedicated to her new dresses, work and formal robes, shoes, under things, casual clothes, all pristine and colour-co-ordinated. The light scent of vanilla and jasmine warmed the air. Her scents. "Do you approve, Miss?"

"A work of art," She moved, walking into the space lit –it seemed— by natural daylight. A large mirror bifurcated one wall, reflecting the room back at her. "Is this a magical mirror?"

"No, Miss." There was a curtness to Gret's voice. "Magical mirrors are nasty things."

"Thank you. I've never liked them either." They had always had too much to say about her hair.

"Does Miss need anything else?"

"No, thank you, Gret. And this is wonderful."

The little elf beamed at her. "You are special. You deserve my best."

"You know I'm muggle-born." She flexed her hands, aware that she could easily upset the house-elf with her ignorance. She'd done it enough times, to other elves, in the past. "And I'm still working my way through wizarding traditions. Can you tell me why this," she touched her ribbon and it hummed under her fingertips, "pleases house elves so much?"

"You are protecting us. So many creatures. Witches and wizards." Gret's ears flicked, and he pressed his long fingers into a knot before the curve of his belly. "Bad wizards can use you against us. Miss is of age. Unbedded. Your blood. Your bones are vicious. Can make of us such creatures." He shuddered, his ears flat to his head. "As ribboned-witch, you are not allowing it. You want us as we are."

"Thank you," Hermione murmured, slightly stunned.

The elf nodded and with a crack was gone.

"Brightest witch of my age." She snorted and kicked off her transfigured boots. There was a whole underbelly to her world about which she knew nothing.

Stripping down, she showered and took time rubbing her lotions into her skin. Her fingers paused over the still raw and ragged scar cut into her arm. She'd hidden it with a thick glamour for the odious Madam Athcasta. Should she do the same for Severus? And for Dolohov's scar or the thin sliver slice cut into the neck? Glamours coated them all.

Severus was a brilliant wizard. Would he feel the magic covering her skin? Question her? Be horrified? She pulled on her pyjamas and found thick socks to warm her toes. Had she held back from intimacy because of her scars? She'd always told herself she'd get around to a boyfriend, a relationship, _sex_ one day. And there _had_ been a world to save from a maniacal wizard first…

Yet everyone else –even as the world turned to shit— seemed to find love. Or at least another warm body. She hadn't. The _Prophet_ had hinted at her promiscuity after the war's end, especially when it came out that she'd travelled for almost a year with two hormonal boys.

She shivered, bile rising at the thought. They'd had barely enough food. Were always afraid, often lost and darkened by that insane locket. They also stank. Ron's socks in particular could curdle milk. She didn't doubt that living with Ron for a year in such conditions had killed practically all of her interest in him.

Hermione dried and charmed her hair, fighting it back into something that at least stayed off her face and headed off to the library.

She'd been so excited about her new job. They would be paying her to scour books. It was her dream. But since Friday night, she'd hardly given it a thought. She flushed, feeling guilty. She was certain, once everything settled down, it would all be fine.

Now she just had to get her night with Severus out of her thoughts.

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><p>"Hermione."<p>

She looked up from her sprawl on the soft, deep rug before the dwindling fire, a gentle ball of light illuminating her open book. Severus had entered the room, unseen, unheard. Her heart gave a painful thud. The immaculate wizard had vanished. He came to her in only trousers and shirt sleeves, three buttons undone at the throat. The fire flickered gold and shadows against his pale skin and the sudden urge, the need, to dip her mouth into the open, tempting vee, to kiss and lick, burned up through her flesh.

His mouth lifted at the corner and he offered his hand. "Time for bed," he murmured.

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><p>As every, let me know what you think :)<p>

AN: Adamantinus = Impregnable


	11. Chapter 11

Early Christmas present, and a bit longer than usual, but I'm afraid there'll be nothing till New Year now.

This is M for naughtiness, though Severus is still a gentleman... ;-) Enjoy

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><p>Hermione fought the instinct to scramble to her feet and instead, closed her book, dropped it onto a nearby table and smiled at him. Even as her pulse hammered and her mind felt as though she would fly apart. She glanced to the clock. Just after eleven. Time had flown.<p>

Severus waved for her to precede him. "What had you so enraptured?" His voice low and warm, surrounding her and a shiver flowed over her skin.

"My department head, Augustus Beggin said that I should make myself familiar with the workings of the Ministry. Departments, their history…"

"But you weren't doing that." It wasn't a question.

"I was…earlier." She blushed and led the way out of the library. "Then I found a book on advanced charms and I was lost." She pressed her hands together. "I have to brush my teeth." She drew in a steadying breath so that she didn't stutter. "Where's your bedroom, Severus?"

'The end of this corridor." He stroked her cheek, catching a loosened curl. "My door will be open."

Hermione didn't know whether she should run or dawdle. Instead, she backed away with an unsteady smile and took deliberate, slow steps to the floor below. Then she ran, racing across reception room, along the corridor, into her bedroom and skidding into her bathroom.

She leant against her sink, finding her breath and stared at herself in the mirror. Her face was flushed, her eyes bright, but wide and nervous. Was she going to sleep with him? Stupid book for being so vague.

Getting hold of her panic, she shoved it down and set about cleaning her teeth. She splashed water on her face to cool her hot cheeks, dried them, found her wand and set off upstairs.

Her stomach was a knot. Damn it, she shouldn't be this nervous. She'd survived torture under Bellatrix Lestrange, had ridden a mad, half-blind dragon, had helped to take down one of the darkest wizards of all time. She was a _Gryffindor_, for Merlin's sake.

"Hermione, make yourself comfortable."

But none of that bravery counted or helped when faced with a half-naked Severus Snape. He lounged in his bathroom doorway, his chest bare and wearing only pyjama bottoms. He waved his toothbrush at her, and towards the large four-poster bed dominating the room.

She jerked a nod. The soft light from the room's candles played across his skin. Alabaster white with a dusting trail of ebony hair and honed in the lines of a sculpture of a Spartan warrior. Silver stood out against his perfection. Scars. Criss-crossing patterns. Perfect circles. A starburst of silver under his right rib. Great slashing claw marks. The faded lines of his Dark Mark, cut deep into his forearm. The savagery of Nagini's bite… What he had suffered under Voldemort made her war efforts seem paltry. And there was the trait she admired in him. He didn't give a damn what the world thought. That she had seen his war-marked skin.

Hermione closed her eyes and murmured an end to her glamours.

With a softly spoken spell, most of the flickering candles faded down to glowing wicks. Severus padded across the room on silent feet, Hermione tracking his every step. And she couldn't hold back her questions any longer. Exposure, be damned. She had to know what he had planned.

"The book you gave me wasn't clear. What will happen tonight, Severus?"

He stood beside the bed, tall, lean, his hair loose around his shoulders, skin as pale as a ghost, but his eyes were pools of heated darkness. Under the sheets, her hands clenched into fists to stop her tremors.

A smile lifted his lips. "You will still be a virgin in the morning, Hermione. I won't be as crass as to take you now."

Relief and an unexpectedly raging disappointment surged through her. "So we'll simply sleep?"

His smile darkened and her belly swooped. "More than simply."

The bed dipped as he climbed in and Hermione kept her breathing even. She'd fallen asleep on Harry before, so –technically— she'd done this. But now…

"Relax, Hermione." He turned on his side and held up his hand. "Lie next to me, your back to my chest. I will hold you."

She wriggled across the wide bed until she was only inches from him. She stared ahead into the darkness, aware of his alien heat even through the covering of her pyjamas.

A large hand took her hip and his breath stirred her hair. "Closer…"

Hermione bit her lip and wriggled again, Severus' soft laughter making her face burn. She hit a solid mass and stilled. His arm angled across her hip to slide his hand up between her breasts, as his chin nestled against her braided hair. His strong thigh pushed between hers and she pressed her hand to her mouth to deny a gasp at the brush of thick muscle against her legs.

"There you are," he murmured, his sinful voice dangerously soft. "You should always be held when you sleep. Magics entwine and offer peaceful dreams."

"We're…?"

"Sleeping, Hermione." He pressed a kiss to her hair. Her eyes closed at the almost affectionate gesture. "Sleep."

She drew in a deep slow breath, Severus' arm moving with her, the wrap of him strong and hot around her body strange, but delicious. Warm, with his now familiar scent surrounding her, she felt the surprising tug of sleep.

It pulled her down and under, her dreams filled with her wandering the light-filled flat, finding the library –expanded to the size of Hogwarts' own— the fire roaring in the hearth, and Severus sat before the golden blaze. He was dressed simply, as he had been, discreetly opened shirt and dark trousers. His feet were bare. He looked up from the book he was reading, his dark eyes warm and gold-touched from the fire. A smile lifted his lips.

"Hermione…" Had he spoken?

A lick of pleasure rose up over her belly and she hissed. Her body felt heavy and something was changing. The enveloping heat wasn't the fire, but sheets and arms and a man's hard, strong body. Parchment and freshly cut grass. She breathed it in and her heart drummed. Her eyelids fluttered. "Severus?"

"Good morning."

His voice was sultry, still thickened by sleep and it teased the pleasure beginning to fill her flesh. Something brushed her nipple and she gasped. Severus' hand was under her shirt, palming her breast, his thumb stroking rhythmically over the hard peak.

She should stop him, it wasn't… What? Right? Proper? It was very much both of those things. And more. She'd wanted this. Had wanted it for a long time.

His other arm skimmed her hip and he pressed his large hand low on her belly, holding her to him. His clothed erection pressed against her backside. He nuzzled her neck. "You taste sweet, little witch."

She melted against him and moved with the slow, smooth rocking of his hips. Her hand covered his as he drew patterns over the material of her pyjamas.

Slight pressure urged him lower, even as her heart slammed in her chest. He'd said they'd simply sleep. Was she taking advantage of him in his half-sleep? Was he of her? Had she only thought he'd said her name? Did he know _who_ was in his bed? His long fingers stroked over her mons and all her questions and guilt fell away. Her only regret was that he didn't have his hand against her bare flesh.

Heat coiled in her belly as he nipped and licked and sucked the curve of her neck. Her thoughts span, the sensation he drove through her hotter and harder that anything she had managed to find on her own. His finger teased above her sex and she gasped, pushing back against him.

His warm laughter brushed her shoulder. "Sensitive?"

She hummed her agreement, not wanting to break the moment, in case he didn't know who he touched with such brilliantly clever hands.

"Just how sensitive?" Velvet darkness wove around his words and without a sound, her pyjamas vanished.

Hermione gasped, her skin on fire, his chest against her back, his muscled arms wrapped around her, teasing her nipple and his other hand slipping further between her legs. Her heart rocketed. Was this a part of The Agreement, this…overwhelming rush at the slid of his skin against hers? The satin smooth, mixed with the alien brush of hair, heat and scent.

Her breath came out in short pants now, her thoughts swirling as his fingers played, and slipped…and did something that sparked enough fire in her veins to melt metal… Hermione crushed her eyes shut, willing the tightness, the tension to break and what she knew, now, would follow to burst over her. Her hand crushed his. Working him faster, deeper—

A cry burst from her, startled, wild, her body bucking back against his as a brilliant white blast of heat swept over her flesh. For a moment, all thought was wiped away. Perfect, _perfect_ golden peace.

"Fuck."

Hermione bit her lip. Yes, Severus had just remembered who was in his bed.

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><p>Severus rolled onto his back and pressed his hand to his face. His pulse hammered and his dick was aching, and Merlin save him, she was eager and right <em>there<em>. He groaned. Fuck, she was all over his fingers. The scent of her temptingly sweet arousal brushed against the corner of his mouth. His lips parted, his tongue almost, _almost_… He wouldn't taste her. He couldn't.

What sort of Mentoris –what sort of _man_— was he?

Severus swore under his breath and fought to regain control of his traitorous body. Virgins. He should stay far, far away from virgins. "Hermione." His voice was little more than a croak. He swallowed and his eyes refused to open. He couldn't face her. Not yet. "Hermione, did I hurt you?"

The bed shifted under him, evidence of her movement on the mattress. He flinched at the small hand that pressed to his cheek, frowning as her wet finger traced his lips, drawing their complete shape. "Lick."

He opened his mouth to object, finding the will to look at her. Her eyes were fierce, her jaw set. She really was a bossy little thing.

"Lick."

He did and the sweetness of her powered through him. He swore, his hips shifting. He pushed down the very real need to fist his hand around his dick. "Fuck, girl." He stared at her, probably wide eyed. She'd painted herself on his mouth and that thought tightened the coil of want in his gut.

"I saw you." She twitched a smile, propping herself up on the pillow beside him, her naked little body stretched out against his, all soft, scented curves and tempting heat. "You wanted to taste me. I obliged."

"You _obliged_?" The gods had to save him from forthright Gryffindor innocence.

She gave him a bright little grin. "I thought I tasted rather nice."

Severus pinched his eyes, welcoming the pain. And here he was worried about hurting her when she planned to kill him.

"Severus. It was good just now. I liked it. A lot."

Uncertainty rippled through her voice and he cursed himself again. He was meant to be taking care of her. He wrapped an arm around her, forcing a squeak as he pulled her to his side. He pressed a kiss to the tangle of her morning hair, the lingering scent of jasmine warming him. "I…" Fuck, he hadn't thought how their time together would open him up to her. "I am not used to sharing a bed. And when I do…"

"Your hands wander."

His face was hot. He was glad the little witch was tucked under his chin so he could avoid a witness to his embarrassment. At least his mortification had _deflated_ his needs. "It was not planned, Hermione."

"Severus…" She pressed a kiss –quick, hesitant— to his skin, her fingers lightly running through the dark hair smattering his chest and an unexpected ache ran through him. Her affection kept catching him out. "It was a very good way to wake up." Her eyelashes brushed his skin and the delicate touch jumped his pulse. He cursed Molly Weasley. In fact, the first chance he had he would _curse_ Molly Weasley…

"Has my ribbon changed?"

He looked down his nose at the girl, her wild hair obscuring her face. "No one will know. What we decide to do together is a private matter."

She pressed her chin against his chest, frowning up at him. "But I thought this," her fingers brushed the length of silk and Severus fought not to swallow as a soft thread of pleasure wound through his veins, "was all about display."

"The decision is mine. I had no wish for you to have the wizarding equivalent of hanging out a bloody sheet."

Her face reddened, her eyes dropping from his. Fuck, what had he said now? Why did he take her –this— on? Because of pride, because of watching the po-faced members of the Order of the Phoenix wrap their minds around the fact that he would have a sweet young thing all to himself…

For _three months_. The Granger girl wasn't _his_. Would never _be_ his. When her time with him was up, the very second after, she'd hare off into the pack that would no doubt have hounded her… Damn Minerva for not doing her duty. As distasteful as it was, perhaps Lupin should have Magistered her. Though the thought of the mangy wolf being anywhere near her twisted and soured his gut.

"Hermione." He cupped her hot cheek and offered a short smile. He had courted the Dark Lord for years. He could work out how not to crush a nineteen year old girl. Though he had never wanted to roll Voldemort over and find bliss between his thighs… He shuddered against that horrific image. "Would you want our every move, every intimate touch to be shown at your throat?"

"No." She pressed a kiss to his palm and he almost flinched. "But I didn't know that was an option. The book on The Agreement is so thin as to almost have no information."

"You have the basics already." He didn't need to repeat them. This was Hermione Granger. Everything he said would be tattooed under her eyelids. "The only thing you have to accept is the attention your ribbon will bring. From the press and from men."

A line formed over her nose and he had the urge to smooth it away. He stopped himself. Understanding rose in her clear, brown eyes and was that a touch of distaste? Or his wishful thinking? Shit, he had to get out of bed, away from her, away from her warm soft skin pressed down the length of his body. _Fuck_…

"I would be ready. Primed." She curled her lip. "Is that what they do? Slaver after a recently unribboned-witch?"

"Some believe a newly experienced witch –or wizard— is all the sweeter. Better than doing the job themselves." He glanced at the clock on the mantle. Almost seven. Ministry drones punched in at nine. "Time to get ready for the archives."

She flushed, a smile curving her mouth. "I completely forgot." She eased herself away from him and his skin chilled at the loss of contact. She stilled and looked down at herself. Her flush deepened. "You vanished my pyjamas."

Severus knew he shouldn't, but his gaze lingered on her sweet little breasts and dark nipples. His mouth watered. But then he frowned. Her skin was cursed. A scar cutting down between her breasts, over her ribs to end above her navel. And her arm. Anger rose in him, hot and quick. Someone had dared to carve her up, dig 'Mudblood' into her flesh.

He drew in a calming breath, the need to slice hexes too fierce in his blood. "Who?"

She blinked and then something like shame moved though her eyes. No. He would not have this girl feeling guilty for the depravity of others.

"Hermione, who marked you?"

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><p><em>Shit, shit, shit.<em> The golden light of the room was brighter than she thought, or he was simply more observant. He'd been a spy for decades. Of course, he was observant. Panic threaded through her and she wanted nothing more than to run, to wrap herself up like a mummy and hide in her room.

His gaze was fierce and anger moved through him. Did he not want her now? Her scars had kept her from others. Would they now keep the one man she wanted from her?

She pulled in her courage, but she couldn't hold his eyes, instead staring at the sheet her hand fisted. He'd asked a question. She would answer it before mortification completely swamped her. "The chest scar I received at the Ministry in my fifth year." She drew in a long breath, knowing that she would be dead if not for Severus' warning the Order of Harry's hair-brained plan to rescue a phantom Sirius Black. Whilst that man had sat safe –and unknowing— in Grimmauld Place. "Anton Dolohov."

She squeaked as Severus pressed his lips to the pointed edge of the scar cutting across her collarbone. Heat burned over her skin and she tried to catch her breath. She couldn't. Severus pushed her back into the pillows, his mouth sure as he traced the line with his lips, his tongue.

"You wear glamours. Yet you removed them."

_Because of you._ The words seared the tip of her tongue, but all thought was disintegrating under the fierce heat of his mouth. Down, down, between her breasts –and the sudden ache in her nipples forced a gasp— but he gave them no attention. Still, the silky coolness of his hair feathered over taut peaks and Hermione bit down on a knuckle to quieten her cry.

Would another man do this? Accept her scars? Kiss them? She ached to thread her fingers through his hair, give him a mere hint of the attention that he was lavishing on her.

And he didn't stop. Over her ribs and down to her belly. Her sex ached and she wanted, she wanted to urge him further, to have that beautiful mouth taste her fully...

Severus looked up, his lips shining, his hair deliciously mussed, dark eyes hot and wanton. "You trusted me with your secret."

"I trust _you_." And she always had –though she had to admit there had been a wobble over his part in Dumbledore's death. "I always will."

He looked away to her arm, changing position, pulling her to him as he lay on his side, so that they were level. He took her hand, teasing his fingers down over the ripped skin, still not quite healed. "Who did this?"

"Bellatrix."

His gaze narrowed, a hard line furrowing between his brows. "The same blade scored your neck."

She nodded, her mouth dry as, with his eyes fixed on hers, he pressed his lips to the first letter. Her nipples practically drilled holes into his chest, the heat and brush of skin and hair dancing over her senses. The need to hook her leg over his hip and grind herself against him was tight in her flesh.

"You survived. Survived them. They're howling beyond the veil…and you're here, naked and on the brink of ecstasy."

His voice wove through her and her mind spun. "The best revenge is to live well."

He grinned against her arm. "Exactly." He pressed the final kiss to the ragged 'D' and moved to drop a chaste kiss against her mouth. "With me, your glamours can stay off. If you wish."

She threw her arms around him and hugged him. Hard. He stilled before he awkwardly held her. Hermione closed her eyes, her face tucked against his neck and denied the raw heat in her eyes. She would not cry. She could be herself with him. No hiding. Just herself, scars and all.

"Hermione, time moves on."

She pressed a kiss to his neck and drew back. She willed herself not to be embarrassed, to be the cool, calm witch he wanted…but she'd probably destroyed any hope of that with her wild hugging. "Thank you, Severus."

He gave her a brief nod, his eyes shuttered. "Use a sheet to return to your room."

And he was out of his –their— bed and disappearing into his bathroom before she could blink.

For a moment, and because he was in another room, Hermione buried her face in his pillow. She breathed in his scent, the hints of herbs that seemed to cling to him and overlaid by the warmth of old books. It stirred something in her, some memory she couldn't quite grasp…

The clock struck the half hour. She swore. Shower, dressing and breakfast. Now.

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><p>I love faves, follow and, of course, reviews, so let me know what you think!<p>

Now I'm away to write about dragons...


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